Songs for the Sentinel
by Brumeier
Summary: Here you will find a variety of Sentinel songfics. There will likely be AU, missing scenes, slash, non-slash, fluff, angst, and who knows what all. Rated M cause you just never know!
1. With Arms Wide Open

_**Standard Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters from the series. Darn shame, that. I do own all the original characters, though, and all the other parts that come from my brain. _

* * *

><p><strong>With Arms Wide Open<strong>, by Creed

_Well I just heard the news today  
>It seems my life is gonna change<br>I closed my eyes, begin to pray  
>Then tears of joy stream down my face<em>

_With arms wide open under the sunlight_  
><em>Welcome to this place I'll show you everything<em>  
><em>With arms wide open<em>  
><em>With arms wide open<em>

_Well I don't know if I'm ready_  
><em>To be the man I have to be<em>  
><em>I'll take a breath, I'll take her by my side<em>  
><em>We stand in awe, we've created life<em>

_With arms wide open under the sunlight_  
><em>Welcome to this place I'll show you everything<em>  
><em>With arms wide open now everything has changed<em>  
><em>I'll show you love I'll show you everything<em>

_With arms wide open_  
><em>With arms wide open<em>  
><em>I'll show you everything, aw yeah<em>  
><em>With arms wide open, wide open<em>

_If I had just one wish only one demand_  
><em>I hope he's not like me, I hope he understands<em>  
><em>That he can take this life and hold it by the hand<em>  
><em>And he can greet the world with arms wide open<em>

_With arms wide open under the sunlight_  
><em>Welcome to this place I'll show you everything<em>  
><em>With arms wide open now everything has changed<em>  
><em>I'll show you love I'll show you everything<em>

_With arms wide open_  
><em>With arms wide open<em>  
><em>I'll show you everything, aw yeah<em>  
><em>With arms wide open<em>  
><em>Wide open<em>

It was late, or early depending on how you wanted to look at it, and Jim was tired. There was a lot about his job that he liked, but running surveillance wasn't high on the list. Normally he'd make one of the other guys handle it, but Jace had just had a death in the family and Ryan had picked up the extra caseload without having to be asked. Jim didn't want to be that kind of boss anyway, passing off the lame assignments and keeping only the really juicy ones for himself; not that Blair would let him get away with that.

Jim pointed his truck towards home, grateful he had the weekend off. He had a standing lunch date with Simon so that they could get caught up, though they did see each other whenever the PD contracted with J&B Investigations. Which was fairly often, he thought smugly. It had been Blair's idea, and he'd worked really hard to convince Jim to go along with it, but it had worked out better than either of them could have imagined.

When Naomi had released the dissertation without her son's approval, things could easily have blown up in everyone's faces. Luckily, Jim and Blair had been operating on a different level of communication and understanding after the Alex Barnes incident, and they were able to sit down and figure things out together.

*o*o*o*

_Blair stood at the podium, facing the roomful of media with a determined look on his face. Beside him stood Police Chief Warren and Chancellor Edwards, representing dual support from both Cascade PD and Rainier University. Jim, who stood a step behind his partner and kept a hand clapped firmly on his shoulder, knew that Edwards had only agreed to be there after a call from the mayor._

_ "Hi. Thank you all for coming." The noise in the room quieted as Blair began to talk. "As you know, both myself and Detective James Ellison have been the focus of much unwanted attention in the last few days. I'd like to take this opportunity to set the record straight._

_ "I have written a novel called The Sentinel, in the form of a dissertation. As some of you may know, this type of documentary writing style is very popular right now. The novel was released to Berkshire Publishing without my consent. It is unfinished and any publicity surrounding it was done without my approval._

_ "The main character was based on Detective Ellison, and I used his name as a placeholder in the novel until such time as the first draft was done, and then I had planned on changing it. Detective Ellison was the basis of the character because I admire his integrity, his dedication to his job, and his high moral standards."_

_ Jim leaned forward toward the microphones. "Trust me, I can't leap tall buildings in a single bound."_

_ There was some laughter from the audience._

_ "I will be pursuing legal action against Berkshire Publishing, and my novel has been put on hold until things get sorted out. I apologize to both the Cascade PD and Rainier University for any problems this has caused. Thank you."_

_ Before the reporters could start in with questions, Police Chief Warren stepped up and made a brief speech about Blair's value to the Cascade PD, citing his long record of case closures while an observer. Jim was filled with pride, especially when the Chief announced that they were offering him an official, paid position as Police Consultant. Blair had been surprised and clearly touched, if the brightness in his eyes was any indication._

_ Chancellor Edwards spoke last and though she said all the right words, Jim wanted to strangle her for her unpleasant tone. The University was of course very supportive of Mr. Sandburg, and the doctorate committee was looking forward to the upcoming presentation of his thesis on closed societies in law enforcement._

_ Blair hadn't planned on answering any questions, but as Jim started to hustle him out, one of the reporters called out loudly, asking if Sentinels did in fact exist._

_ "Do Sentinels exist?" Blair grinned. "Richard Burton thought so. He wrote a book called The Sentinels of Paraguay, which was the basis of my own work. If you can find a copy, it's an interesting read."_

*o*o*o*

The press bought that story, and Blair sued the publisher and won. Their friends in Major Crimes knew that the whole novel thing was a lie, and went out of their way to make Blair feel welcome in his new role as official consultant. Still, there were questions and suspicions elsewhere in the department.

Blair eventually brought up the subject of starting their own investigation firm, pointing out that Jim would still be helping the tribe but in a different way. They'd both done a lot of thinking about that, and eventually Jim had agreed. He was tired of his friend constantly being in the line of fire, both criminal and friendly, and figured that if they opened their own firm they could leave the heavy lifting to the cops.

Though he'd been a little uncertain at first, Jim had to admit how excited he'd been when their office opened up; just seeing their name on the glass door gave him a little thrill. Plus, there was something to be said for being your own boss. They could set their own hours, pick and choose their cases, and take long fishing weekends.

*o*o*o*

_"Check it out, Chief." Jim waved a piece of paper at him. "The first payment for our first case."_

_ "We should frame that," Blair said._

_ "I think you're forgetting a little something called rent."_

_ Even with the large settlement from the lawsuit, they'd decided to rent offices for the time being. Blair was pretty confident that there would be expansion in their future, and so they were keeping their options open._

_ "You're right. Hey! I'll take a picture of you with it." Blair pulled out his little point and shoot, and Jim posed with the check._

_ "Now we can say we have a solve rate of one hundred percent," he added, setting the camera on the desk._

_ Jim just shook his head. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Chief. It's only one case."_

_ "I've already got a line on a couple more. In fact…"_

_ Blair was interrupted by a knock on the door, which opened a moment later. A young man, no more that twenty, was standing there looking incredibly nervous._

_ "Can we help you?" Jim asked._

_ "Oh, uh, yeah. Um, I'm looking for Dr. Sandburg?"_

_ "It's just Blair." He went over and shook the man's hand. "This is my partner, Jim Ellison. Why don't you sit down?"_

_ "Oh, no, that's okay. Um, I was just…um…"_

_ Jim and Blair exchanged a bemused grin. Blair put a hand on the kid's shoulder and steered him into a chair._

_ "Whatever's going on, I'm sure we can help you. Just take a nice, deep breath and talk to us."_

_ The kid did as instructed and visibly relaxed. "Okay. Um, I saw your press conference on YouTube. You know, about the Sentinel thing."_

_ Another look passed between them, though this time it was one of wariness instead of amusement._

_ "Did you have a question about that?" Blair asked cautiously._

_ "Yes. I mean, no. I mean…well, thing is, I think I might be one of those. A Sentinel. I can see really far, and I can hear people talking all the way down the street. It's kind of cool, but I get lots of headaches. I just thought…well, you seemed to know…I mean…"_

_ "You want help controlling your senses?" Blair asked._

_ "Well, I was hoping. I mean, I took a bus here all the way from Idaho, you know? And you never said that Sentinels weren't real. I watched your speech like ten times and you never said it was a lie."_

_ Jim gave the kid points for being perceptive. "What's your name?" _

_ "Danny. Danny Williams."_

_ "Well, Danny Williams," Jim said with a grin. "I think we can help you."_

*o*o*o*

It hadn't taken long for J&B Investigations to set up an off-shoot called Watchman Enterprises. Danny Williams wasn't the only one who had seen Blair's press conference and the media firestorm that surrounded it, and found the Sentinel information all too familiar. Suddenly there were almost-Sentinels coming to Cascade from all over the country, seeking help from Blair and Jim. And with all the people they'd met, not one of them had been a full Sentinel the way Jim was.

"There can be only one," he laughed to himself. Blair was compiling ridiculous amounts of research, and had been able to help most of the almost-Sentinels that came to them; not all of them were willing to listen. None of them had set Jim's senses off the way Alex had, though, so he was more than happy to lend out his Guide.

The truck left the city limits, driving through the suburbs in the pre-dawn hours. Most of the houses out this way were dark, everyone still sleeping. Jim couldn't wait to be one of them. Two years ago they'd moved out of the loft and into a nice place just outside town, a little farmhouse that had a small, stand-alone barn that had been remade into Jim's living space. And since he already owned the loft, they'd moved their offices there.

He loved the barn. They'd had it renovated and turned into a nice bi-level apartment, with skylights and big, southern-exposure windows. When he wanted to be alone, he had his own place – fully Sentinel-ized thanks to his Guide. But he spent just as much time in the house with Blair and Jenny.

Jenny Miles had been a find. There had been the usual parade of women through Blair's life, which Jim had gotten kind of used to. But he'd been surprised when his partner had admitted that he was looking for a woman he could spend his life with, one that would also be accepting of the Sentinel-Guide relationship, and he would accept no substitutes.

Jim always felt a warm glow when he thought of Jenny. She was perfect in all the ways that counted. She was a school teacher – high school English – and she could hold her own in a debate with Blair. She'd also been incredibly accepting of Jim, taking the Sentinel thing right in stride. It hadn't taken long for her to become part of Jim's little family. Jenny really loved Blair, and he loved her back just as strongly; anything less would have been unacceptable. They quickly became a very tight knit threesome, and if Jim loved Blair like a brother than Jenny became the sister he'd never had.

*o*o*o*

_Jenny, Jim and Blair moved around the spacious kitchen in their own version of ballet. It wasn't often that the three of them cooked together, but when they did they moved seamlessly, each doing their own part of the meal. When it was finished they ate at the little round table, chatting easily about their day._

_ After they cleaned up the dinner dishes and wiped down the counters – Jenny adhered to a level of tidiness that Jim approved of – the three of them retired to the living room to watch a little television. As usual, they wound up in what Blair laughingly called a puppy pile; Jim sat on one side of his partner, an arm casually thrown over his shoulder, and Jenny was curled up on the other side with her arm around Blair's waist._

_ Jim never failed to marvel at how things had a way of working out. He and Blair had discovered that the Sentinel's powers were a little like a battery; when he used them a lot, he needed a recharge. This recharge came from physical contact with his Guide, often just sitting closely together like they were now. What had surprised both of them was the way Jenny seemed to be able to fill some of that need; on a few occasions when Blair had been unavailable, Jenny had filled in as Guide. She wasn't at the same level as her husband, but in a pinch she got the job done._

_ While they relaxed together, Jim did a casual Sentinel scan of his companions. Jenny jokingly referred to him as her primary physician, because he always knew when something was up before she did. Which certainly seemed to be the case today._

_ "Jenny?" he asked, sitting up._

_ "What's up, big guy?" Blair looked at him searchingly._

_ "There's something…oh my God."_

_ "What? What's wrong?" Jenny looked between the two of them, panic in her eyes. "What is it?"_

_ Jim leaned across Blair, and put his head on Jenny's stomach. His Guide immediately started to rub his back, helping him to focus on whatever it was he'd detected._

_ "Jimmy, you're scaring me."_

_ Jim looked up at Jenny, and couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. "Wow."_

_ "Wow? What the hell does that mean?" Blair pushed him up. "What's going on, man?"_

_ "I heard a heartbeat."_

_ "Okay." Blair looked at Jenny and shrugged. "You always hear our heartbeats."_

_ "Not yours." Jim got up and moved around to sit next to Jenny. He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "You're pregnant, little sister."_

_ Jenny looked back at him with wide eyes, then turned to share a shell-shocked look with her husband. "You're sure?"_

_ "Never doubt your Sentinel."_

_ There was a lot of hooting and hollering and crying after that announcement. Jim shared an apple cider toast with the happy couple before retiring to his apartment. The warm glow stayed with him all night. Blair was going to be a father, and he'd never been happier for his friend. For both of his friends._

*o*o*o*

Jim pulled into the driveway, immediately assessing his home territory. The front light of the house was on, as it always was. The kitchen light was on, too, and at this hour of the day it was unusual. But it was seeing the dog out in the fenced yard that put the Sentinel on alert. He quickly parked the truck and got out, closing the door as quietly as possible. He opened the side gate, moving into the yard; he had his gun in his hand before he'd even thought to draw it. The dog, a large shepherd mix, immediately came trotting over to lick his hand.

"Hey, Rinny," he whispered. Blair had insisted on naming the dog Rin Tin Tin. "What're you doing out here?"

Blair and Jenny never left the dog out at night, and Rinny was old enough now to make it through without needing a bathroom break.

Jim extended his hearing, and his stomach twisted when he couldn't detect any signs of life in the house. He reached for his cell phone, frowning when it wouldn't turn on. Damn it! The battery had died again. He needed to get in the house, but he was afraid of what he'd find once he got there. Tentatively he opened up smell, shaking in relief when he didn't smell any blood.

Using his key, he went through the kitchen door and did a room by room search of the house. No signs of forced entry, no signs of violence. And then his higher brain function finally kicked in and he checked the front entry hall. Jenny's suitcase, the one she had packed for the hospital, was gone. He ran to the living room, snatching the phone up out of the base, and punched in Blair's number.

"Jesus, man, where have you been? I've been leaving you messages!" His Guide sounded anxious, tense, and on edge. In short, like a man whose wife had gone into labor.

"Battery's dead. You at Cascade General?"

"Yeah. You gotta get down here, I can't…I'm freaking out."

"Is Jenny okay?"

"Jenny? She's great. I've never seen her this calm. Why is she so calm?"

"Hang tight, Chief. I'm on my way."

Jim locked up after making sure Rinny had food and water, and got back in his truck. So much for bed. Not that he could sleep now, anyway. The baby was coming!

*o*o*o*

_Whatever protective instincts that Jim possessed for his tribe was nothing when it came to the life Jenny was carrying inside her. He was constantly listening in, assessing the well-being of the unborn baby, making sure that Jenny ate all the right foods and got just the right amount of exercise. Anyone who was unfortunate enough to jostle her in public got a face full of angry Sentinel._

_ When Jenny had her first ultrasound, she and Blair had to bully Jim into coming; he hadn't wanted to intrude on their special moment. And there they had been in that little room, Jenny laying on the bed with Blair's hand clasped tightly in hers and Jim's hands gripping Blair's shoulders. The husband and wife had cried, but he'd just looked on in wonder at the tiny hands that waved around on the monitor._

_ Naomi had come to visit shortly after that, and expressed concern that Jim was acting too much like an expectant father. Jenny had just laughed._

_ "He's never had this, Naomi. Such a close family. Let him enjoy it."_

_ "Why doesn't he get married and have his own family, then?"_

_ Blair had changed the subject, showing his mother the newest baby things they had gotten and how the nursery was coming along. He and Jenny knew that while Jim still dated occasionally, he'd come to a decision long ago that he didn't want to get married. Some hurts you never got over, and he was still afraid of being rejected. Jenny and Blair, Steven and his father were the only family he needed. Which didn't stop Jenny from keeping on the lookout for a woman for Jim, someone like her that would understand and accept him for who he was._

*o*o*o*

While Jim drove to the hospital, he sent up silent prayers to whoever might be listening that Jenny and the baby made it through okay. They were both healthy, and almost a week past the due date, so there was no real reason to worry. He thought instead about whether the baby would be a boy or a girl. Blair had tried to see if his Sentinel abilities could detect that, but so far they'd come up empty. Jenny had been glad of that; she wanted to be surprised.

He wished he still had a siren in the truck. He tried not to exceed the speed limit but he needed to get there. Blair was having a freak-out, the culmination of nine months of wondering if he'd be a good dad when he'd had no good role model himself growing up. They'd had several conversations about that, during which Jim tried to convince him that he'd be an amazing father. Hadn't he taken Jim in hand all those years ago?

Finally – _finally!_ – he reached Cascade General and swung into the visitor parking lot. He'd drawn the line at accompanying Jenny and Blair to childbirth classes, but he knew where the maternity ward was; just follow the sound of the crying babies. He took the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, trying to tune in to that fast, fluttery heartbeat he'd come to know so well over the last nine months.

When he burst onto the maternity ward, he scared a nurse who dropped an armload of files all over the floor.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." Jim knelt down and helped her collect all her paperwork. "I'm Jim Ellison, I'm looking for the Sandburgs."

"Are you a family member?"

"Jim!" Blair called from down the hall.

He was on his feet, ignoring whatever else the nurse had to say. His eyes were on his Guide, noting the calm, relaxed face that smiled back at him. Everything had gone fine, and he could finally let out his own nervous breath.

Blair clapped him on the arm. "Come on in, and meet my son."

A boy! Jim entered the room, feeling suddenly shy, pleased to see that Jenny looked well, if not more than a little tired.

"Jimmy," she said with a smile. "You made it!"

"I'm getting a new phone tomorrow," he promised. His eyes were drawn to the tightly swaddled form that Jenny held against her side. Blair took the baby and carefully handed him to Jim.

"I'd like to introduce you to Jamie Miles Sandburg," he said softly.

Jim looked down at his namesake, his senses opening of their own accord to drink in every bit of this new little life. He had a lot of hair, reddish brown and already curly. Deep blue eyes, like his father. A little bow mouth like his mother. Jim bent his head, breathing in that sweet smell that only babies had. He kissed his little forehead, which tasted faintly of powder. A little piece of Blair and a little piece of Jenny, brought together to form a unique human being. His little fingers wrapped around Jim's thumb and he was lost.

"…on back, Jim. It's okay, just follow the sound of my voice."

Jim shook his head. Oh no! He'd zoned! While holding the baby. He shot a look of distress at Blair, who kept on rubbing his back.

"It's okay, big guy. You didn't hurt him. You held him nice and close. It's okay."

Nonetheless, he handed Jamie back to Jenny with a mumbled apology. Jenny caught his hand in hers and squeezed.

"It's alright, Jimmy. You didn't hurt him. You could never hurt him."

"He's so perfect," Jim whispered.

"You won't think so the first time you have to change a diaper," Jenny said with a grin.

Blair guided Jim to a chair and helped him sit down. "You gonna be okay, Jim? Can I get you some water or something?"

Jim shook his head, his eyes still on the baby. He'd never experienced anything like this, and it left him shaken. That little baby had just bumped everyone else down on the list, becoming his top priority. His safety, his happiness…Jim accepted the responsibility for both.

"Everything's going to change again," he said softly.

"Yeah, it is. You okay with that?"

"Oh, yeah. Do you think…will he be like you? A Guide?"

"He could be anything," Blair replied, keeping a hand on Jim's back. "He could be a Guide, a doctor, a tuna fisherman…even a Sentinel."

Jenny grinned at them from the bed. "Whatever he decides he wants to be, I hope he has a friendship as beautiful as the two of you have."

Blair and Jim shared a goofy grin.

*o*o*o*

_Jim flipped through the baby name book, chuckling at all the notes in the margins and names that had been underlined, circled, or crossed out. He'd had no idea that so much was involved in choosing a name for a baby. Wouldn't it be easier just to find something you like and go with that? But clearly Blair and Jenny, though probably mostly Blair, were putting way too much thought into meanings, origins and spelling variations._

_ "Hey, man." Blair came in and flopped down in the easy chair. He'd been wrestling with the crib, insisting that he could put it together himself. Jim had a feeling he was ready finally to ask for help._

_ "Still looking for the perfect name? I'm surprised you're not looking at other languages."_

_ "Oh, believe me. I did. But Jenny drew the line when I started checking out ancient Tibetan names."_

_ Jim shook his head and tossed the book back on the coffee table. "Have you at least narrowed it down? The last list you guys had was a mile long."_

_ "Oh, yeah, well, we've been talking…" Blair broke off, looking down at his hands._

_ "You can tell him." Jenny's voice floated down the stairs from the nursery, where she was putting clothes in the dresser._

_ "Jim, man, I think she's been absorbing some of your Sentinel senses."_

_ With a laugh, Jim grabbed the baby monitor off the end table and shook it. "Nothing quite so mystical, Chief."_

_ Blair blushed as Jenny's laugh echoed from upstairs. "Okay, so my higher brain function isn't where it should be right now. That's common when a household undergoes preparations for a new family member. In Outer Mongolia…"_

_ "Blair, sweetie, I love you. Stop stalling."_

_ He scowled at the ceiling. _

_ "So what's the big secret?" Jim leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You're not naming the baby Rainbow or something, are you?"_

_ Blair made a face at him. "No. If it's a girl, we decided on Anna."_

_ Jim turned that over in his head. Anna Sandburg. Annie Sandburg. He nodded. "That's pretty."_

_ "It means gracious and merciful in Hebrew. I think those are two pretty good virtues to imbue on a new life."_

_ "Just tell me her middle name won't start with S. Bad initials."_

_ Blair laughed. "No, we're still working on a middle name. I like Rose, after Jenny's grandmother, but she's still undecided."_

_ "And if it's a boy?" Jim asked, wondering why the question made Blair so fidgety._

_ "Well, you know, we had a lot of choices there. I mean, we wanted a name that was strong, but nothing in-your-face like Clint or Rocko or something."_

_ "Rocko?" Jim shook his head._

_ "That was never on the table." Jenny came down the stairs and perched on Blair's knee. "Really, there was only ever one choice, but Blair wasn't sure you'd like it."_

_ "Hey, it's not up to me what you name your baby," Jim said, holding up his hands. And hoping it wasn't an overly feminine name. He knew the kind of comments Blair had been exposed to, growing up with the name he had._

_ "We want to name him Jamie," Blair said softly. "After you."_

_ "What?" Jim sat back. He hadn't expected that, and it made him feel a little funny. "Why?"_

_ "You're one of the best men I know," Jenny said. "And even though he wouldn't admit it, Blair really wanted to do this. Because he thinks so much of you."_

_ "If we have a son, I'd want him to be just like you," Blair said, his voice for Sentinel ears only._

_ Jim blinked back the sudden sting of tears. He opened his arms. "Puppy pile?"_

_ Jenny and Blair both jumped on him, laughing, and he wrapped his arms around them. "I love this family!"_

*o*o*o*

Jamie made his big entrance to much applause; the yard was full of people who had come to help him celebrate his first birthday. He grinned and pulled his hand out of Jenny's so he could walk by himself, happy to show off his newly acquired skill.

"Lord help us, he looks just like his father," Simon said in mock distress.

"Talk to Jim," Blair called from the barbeque. "He's the one who insists on buying Jamie flannel shirts."

Jim shrugged and grinned, but never took his eyes off the little boy that toddled around the yard doing his own version of a meet and greet. With a head full of auburn curls and those big blue eyes in a pudgy little face, he looked like a cherub, minus the wings. Rinny stayed close to his side, on the alert for any trouble; the dog had become a watchman in his own right.

Jamie made his wobbly way over to Jim, and put his arms up, hands opening and closing. "Uh…uh."

Jim swooped the little boy up in his arms, swinging him the way that always made him squeal in delight. Jamie was soon happily tucked against his side, patting his face and laughing.

"Hey, little man," Jim said with a smile. "How's my favorite boy?"

Jamie leaned forward and plastered a wet kiss on Jim's cheek. Blair watched from across the yard, a proud grin on his face. He'd never seen his Sentinel so happy, so settled. He and Jamie had a special relationship, seemingly right from the very first day, and Blair couldn't help thinking how blessed he was. He'd never have imagined that this would be his life when he met Jim all those years ago.

He looked over at Jenny, who was surrounded by her sisters near a table loaded down with food. As if she could feel his gaze on her, she turned and blew him a quick kiss. He tilted his head and she excused herself, coming over to see what he wanted.

"Hey, beautiful." Blair pulled her close and gave her a kiss.

"Hey yourself. You need some help with the burgers?"

"Nope. Just wanted to kiss my pretty wife." And he did it again, just because he could.

"Oh, good news!" Jenny pressed her hands on his chest, her eyes alight with excitement. "I think I found the perfect girl for Jimmy."

"You never give up, do you?"

"Of course not. But listen, my sister Julie finally dumped that jerk she was with and I think she's ready for a real relationship."

"Julie, huh?" Blair looked over at the sisters, and saw that Julie was in fact checking out Jim with interest clearly written on her face. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Julie's the serious one, and I think she'd be a good match for Jim. She loves how good he is with Jamie. I'll feel her out some more, but I think it could work."

"If you're sure, go for it." Blair flipped the burgers. "Although, Jessica _is_ the hot one."

Jenny smacked him in the arm, laughing. "You better amend that statement, buster."

"I meant, after _you_ she's the hot one."

"Am I going to have to disrupt a domestic dispute?" Jim asked, seemingly materializing at Blair's back.

"Tell him, Jim," Jenny said, arms crossed over her chest and smirk on her face.

"Jenny is the hot one, Chief. Might be time to get your prescription checked if you can't tell. Jessica is the bouncy one, Janice is the mean one, and apparently Julie is the perfect-for-Jim one."

Jenny flushed. "What did you do with my son?"

"He's with Hippy Grandma, and don't change the subject."

Blair snorted and put all his attention on the burgers.

"Just talk to her, Jimmy. That's all I'm asking. If you aren't interested, I'll let it go. Honest."

Jim gave her a hard look for a minute before throwing an arm around her shoulder. "Okay, little sister. I'll talk to her. Wasn't she the one hitting on me at the wedding?"

"That's right! I forgot. See? It's a sign."

"It's a sign that you're a meddler." Jim sighed. "Well, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

He walked off to where the sisters were gathered, clearly steeling himself. Blair slipped an arm around Jenny's waist and propped his chin on her shoulder.

"That was too easy. I think he already had an eye on her."

They watched as Jim pulled Julie from the group, and walked with her under one of the oak trees. Blair cocked his head, considering, and grinned at the feeling he got from watching the two of them.

"Jenny, you just might be a genius."

"That's why you married me," she replied confidently.

*o*o*o*

_"So, you're a Sentinel. Five super senses, right?" Julie studied Jim carefully. They were sitting on Jim's couch, and she had her feet in his lap so he could rub them._

_ "Yeah. Now you know the big family secret."_

_ "Right." Julie took a sip from the glass of wine in her hand. "You know, I'm not just a pretty face. When Jenny and Blair hooked up, I did my research."_

_ Jim looked at her, eyebrow raised._

_ "I know all about the so-called novel and the big press conference. Tracked down that Burton book, even."_

_ Now Jim really was surprised. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"_

_ Julie shrugged. "It wasn't my place. Jenny was happy and Blair clearly wasn't a lunatic. It was a compelling story, though. You know, there's an online support group for Sentinels."_

_ "You can only access it with a special invitation." Jim made a mental note to have Blair check on that. They'd tried to impress on all the Sentinelites, as his friend called them, that secrecy was important in order to protect themselves from people who would use their gifts for less than charitable reasons._

_ "Relax, Jim. The site is still protected. I just know a guy who knows a guy who got some help from you a few years back. What you and Blair do, it's good work. All of it."_

_ Jim felt a weight lift from his chest. He and Julie had been seeing each other for about a month and he'd really fallen for her. Letting her in on the Sentinel thing was the litmus test, and not only had she passed it, she'd completely blown it out of the water._

_ "So you're okay with it?"_

_ "No. I'm okay with _you_, Jim. This Sentinel thing, it's not something you can separate from yourself. It's amazing, and the way you've used it is amazing. Thank you for telling me."_

_ He pulled her close, kissing her deeply; she tasted of red wine, strawberries, and mint. He'd already mapped her with his senses, catalogued every scent and taste and touch, and he wanted more. He couldn't believe she'd been right under his nose all this time. Still, he couldn't help but push things. It was a hard habit to break._

_ "It's not just the Sentinel thing, you know."_

_ "Yeah. I do. Doesn't seem to have hurt Jenny's relationship with Blair any." Julie wiggled her toes and Jim got back to rubbing her feet. "If anything, I'd have to say I've always been a little jealous of how close the three of you are."_

_ "Your sister is pretty amazing in her own right."_

_ "She's got her good points," Julie conceded with a grin. "I know what Blair means to you, how he helps you. I'd never want to get between the two of you. I'm a big girl. I can share."_

_ "Well, in the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you I have a few other quirks."_

_ "Jim, we've been dating for a month. I know all about the color-coded Tupperware and the pathological cleanliness." Julie finished her wine and set the class on the coffee table. "Just like you know I need at least one junk drawer in each room, and I take pictures – lots and lots of pictures."_

_ Jim pretended to think that over. "I can get behind the pictures. The junk drawer, though. I don't know. That might be a deal breaker."_

_ Julie aimed a kick at his stomach but he grabbed her ankle and kissed the top of her foot. She moved around until she was sitting in his lap, arms around his neck._

_ "One other thing you should know. I'm a forever kind of girl, so if you're not looking long-term you better tell me now."_

_ Jim ran his hands through her hair, feathering out her auburn bob. "I can definitely do long-term. I mean, if you're sure…maybe you should take some time to really think about…"_

_ "I love you, Jim." Julie leaned in and kissed him. It was the first time she'd said the words and he found himself blinking back tears to hear them. He made a vow to himself that he wasn't going to make the same mistakes that he'd made with Carolyn. He wanted this to last, and he wanted it to be like what Jenny and Blair had; strong and loving, a true partnership._

_ "No secrets. That's all I ask," he whispered. "If something is wrong, if I do or say anything that hurts you, you tell me."_

_ "Only if you do, too," Julie replied. _

_ Jim cupped her face in his hands, unable to stop the smile that spread across his face. "I love you, Julie Miles."_

_ "That's good news," she quipped, though her eyes had gone soft and dewy. "Cause I'm pretty sure you're stuck with me, Mr. Ellison."_

_ "Yeah. I can live with that."_

*o*o*o*

Jim sat on the porch swing, listening to Jenny inside the house, trying to coax Jacob to eat his mashed peas. He could sympathize with the kid on that one. Over in the converted barn, Blair was helping Julie put together one of those exersaucer things. He himself swung lazily back and forth, Jamie snuggled up on one side of him and his own baby daughter curled up in the crook of his arm, asleep.

"Uncle Jimmy?" Jamie asked, tucking his curly hair behind his ear in a move so reminiscent of his father that Jim couldn't help but smile.

"What's up, partner?"

"Is Maggie special?"

Jim looked down at his little girl, pink lips puckered in sleep. He wasn't sure exactly what his nephew was getting at. Was he worried that his uncle wouldn't love him the same? Or had he seen what Jim and Blair had already started to notice?

"You're all special," he said finally. "Just in different ways."

Jamie rolled his eyes. "Jacob's just normal," he said dismissively. Jim bit back a laugh. "I think Maggie is the same kind of special you are."

That gave him pause. He looked down into those guileless blue eyes and knew there was more than just a surface resemblance between this five year old boy and his father. Once it would have been automatic for him to deny, to redirect, but things had changed.

"Your dad and I think she is, too."

Jamie nodded solemnly. "She'll probably need help, right? Like Dad helps you?"

Jim nodded. It had been his secret fear, whenever he'd imagined a future with children, that he'd pass his Sentinel abilities on to his offspring. It had been a big stumbling block in his relationship with Julie, and Blair had been the one to help him through that. He reminded Jim that what he had was a gift, and that if his children had it too it would be easier for them because the circumstances would be so different. And he could see now how right his Guide was. If Maggie truly was a Sentinel, she'd be able to develop her senses and learn to use them in a loving, accepting environment. Blair was already prepping a new journal just for her, and devising some infant-friendly testing so they could determine if she was a true Sentinel, or only had some of the heightened senses.

A passing car backfired, and Jim instantly had an arm full of red-faced, screaming baby. He propped her on his shoulder and rubbed her back, murmuring soothing words, but Maggie just kept crying. The problem with babies, Jim thought with a sigh, was that they didn't have any dials.

"Can I hold her?" Jamie asked.

Jim almost said no. He didn't mind the younger boy holding the baby; he was always very careful with both Maggie and Jacob. But a calm and happy baby was different than a crying, thrashing baby. Still, there was something in his face that made him reconsider.

"Okay. Real careful, remember?"

"I know, Uncle Jimmy."

He transferred the baby to Jamie's lap, making sure her head was securely propped on the boy's arm. The result was almost instantaneous. Maggie stopped crying, reduced to just little chuffs of breath, and she seemed to be trying to focus on her cousin's face.

"It's okay, Maggie. You don't have to cry. It was just a car." Jamie rubbed his hand on the baby's stomach. "I bet you don't like loud noises. You just listen to me, okay? I'll talk nice and quiet."

Jim's breath caught when he saw the serene, toothless smile that Maggie favored Jamie with. What he was witnessing seemed so monumental, so important, that the setting seemed completely wrong somehow. And for just the briefest moment, he swore he could smell the jungle.

"Jim?" Blair was on his way across the yard, a puzzled expression on his face. Jim carefully got up off the swing and met him halfway.

"What's going on? I had the weirdest flash. I think I saw my spirit guide."

"Your son," Jim said, turning Blair so he could see their children on the porch swing. "He got Maggie to stop crying when a loud noise scared her."

"Oh yeah? Well, I'm glad he's helping out. He barely gives Jacob the time of day. I keep telling Jenny…"

"He knows, Chief. He knows about Maggie." Jim could see his friend processing that, then his eyes widened.

"How?"

"Because I think…I think he's just like you."

"Whoa," Blair whispered.

Jim watched as Jamie pressed a kiss to the baby's head. Maggie reached up and grabbed a handful of curls with one chubby little hand. The older boy just smiled and kept talking to her.

Blair leaned back against Jim, who kept his hands on his friend's shoulders. "'And together we will float into the mystic.'"

"You start singing and I'm going to hurt you," Jim said with a grin.

"Are you okay with this, big guy? It's…wow, it's just amazing."

"I don't know if okay is the right word, Chief. But I'll manage. I want more for Maggie, you know? Better than I had. And if Jamie can do for her what you do for me…well, then she's already way ahead of the game."

Blair surprised him by turning around and capturing him in a bear hug. He smelled salty tears and looked down to see that his Guide was crying. Jim hugged him back.

"Getting sentimental on me, Blair?"

"I guess so," he sniffed in reply. "It's just…this is everything I ever wanted. And I don't know what I did to deserve it all."

"Good karma," Jim murmured.

That got them both laughing, and Blair took a step back, swiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. "Think we're ready for what's coming next?"

"Arms wide open, Chief."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> Blair's quote at the end is from the song Into the Mystic, by Van Morrison._

_The song did in fact inspire this fic, though I had originally intended on ending it after Jamie was born. My muse, bully that he is, had other ideas and so it just kept growing. Kept this nice and fluffy, thought the boys could use a break after all the stuff I normally put them through. If you liked this, please let me know. Even if it makes my muse all smug and snotty. LOL!_


	2. Superman

_**Warning: **This is an AU fic. Could be pre-slash, or not, depending on how you like it. ::grins::_

* * *

><p><strong>Superman (It's Not Easy)<strong>, Five for Fighting

_I can't stand to fly  
>I'm not that naive<br>I'm just out to find  
>The better part of me<em>

_I'm more than a bird_  
><em>I'm more than a plane<em>  
><em>I'm more than some pretty face beside a train<em>  
><em>And it's not easy to be me<em>

_Wish that I could cry_  
><em>Fall upon my knees<em>  
><em>Find a way to lie<em>  
><em>'Bout a home I'll never see<em>

_It might sound absurd_  
><em>But don't be naive<em>  
><em>Even heroes have the right to bleed<em>  
><em>I may be disturbed<em>  
><em>But won't you conceive<em>  
><em>Even heroes have the right to dream<em>  
><em>And it's not easy to be me<em>

_Up, up, and away, away from me_  
><em>But it's alright<em>  
><em>You can all sleep sound tonight<em>  
><em>I'm not crazy or anything<em>

_I can't stand to fly_  
><em>I'm not that naive<em>  
><em>Men weren't meant to ride<em>  
><em>With clouds between their knees<em>

_I'm only a man in a silly red sheet_  
><em>Digging for kryptonite on this one way street<em>  
><em>Only a man in a funny red sheet<em>  
><em>Looking for special things inside of me<em>  
><em>Inside of me<em>  
><em>Inside of me<em>  
><em>Yeah, inside of me<em>  
><em>Inside of me<em>

_I'm only a man in a funny red sheet_  
><em>I'm only a man looking for a dream<em>  
><em>I'm only a man in a funny red sheet<em>  
><em>And it's not easy<em>  
><em>Oooo oooo oooo<em>

_It's not easy_  
><em>To be<em>  
><em>Me<em>

REAL-LIFE SUPERMAN FINDS EASTSIDE KILLER

CASCADE'S SENTINEL ATTENDS CHARITY GALA

SENTINEL SPEAKS AT INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCE

SENTINEL SEEN WITH HEIRESS GEORGIA WASS. TRUE LOVE?

Jim stood out on his balcony, the glittering lights of Cascade spread out below him. So many people down there, going about their average, ordinary lives. How many of them were looking up at the big house on the hill, wishing they could be him right now? They had no idea how much better off they were.

"James, can you please focus? I just need five minutes."

He sighed and turned away from the view, walking back into the large living room. Frank Kaplan, his so-called manager, sat on the leather sofa impatiently tapping his fingers on his knees. He was a thin man with an oddly chubby face, which made him look top-heavy; Jim didn't care much for him.

"You don't really care what I want, so why do we have to do this every time?" Jim threw himself in a chair. "Gabe! Beer!"

"Now listen, James," Frank said, paging through his phone. "We've had requests from Seattle, Helena and some place in Italy that I can't pronounce. Seattle can pay the most, but the Helena case is much more high profile."

"Mr. Jim." An older man, dressed impeccably in a brown suit, came in with a bottle of beer on a silver tray.

"Thanks, Gabe." Jim twisted off the cap and tossed it on the tray. "I'm not going to Italy, I just got back from Hong Kong."

"I think we should go with Helena, that one will generate the most media. I'll contact Captain Banks, make all the arrangements."

"Can you give me a couple of days? I'd like to…"

"I'll talk to the Helena people and see what I can do. Probably best not to unpack, though."

"Yeah." Dismissing Frank, Jim turned on the plasma screen TV and flipped around until he found a Mariners game. His manager left without another word, and he wasn't missed. Jim watched about twenty minutes of the game before Gabe reappeared, carrying the portable phone.

"Ms. Wass calling."

Jim looked at the phone with distaste. He'd been out with Georgia a handful of times, and it was a handful too many. She was a vapid little piece of arm candy; the press loved her but Jim had been bored almost instantly. The only reason he'd gone out with her more than once was because Cindy Kowalski, his PR coordinator, had insisted.

"Sir?"

"Right." Jim took the phone, switched it off, and handed it back to Gabe. "Problem solved."

"Yes, Sir."

Jim turned off the television and took his beer out on the balcony. He did love it out there. Far enough above the city to be distanced from the noise of it, even with his sensitive hearing. Once upon a time he used to be a detective down there on those streets. He'd been a good cop, until his senses started going haywire. Now he was some damned celebrity to be trotted out at charity functions and media events that had nothing to do with police work, and even the job had turned into some kind of sideshow. Other cops resented him being handed the plum cases and getting all the attention, and he couldn't blame them.

He missed the days he could make an anonymous visit to Wonderburger or the grocery store, back before people would accost him on the street, asking to take his picture or begging him to help find their missing loved one. If he asked, Gabe would drive down there and get him anything he wanted, but it wasn't the same. Jim hated not being able to do for himself like he used to.

"Fucking Helena," he muttered to himself, finishing the beer in one long swallow. He wanted to toss the bottle off the balcony, but knew someone else would end up having to clean the mess.

Jim looked out over the city, wanting more. Or not more precisely, but just something different. He had plenty of money, and people more than willing to spend it for him, but he was tired of being followed by the press and women who wanted to get their faces on the news and Carl Tetherly, his "official biographer." Everyone wanted a piece of the Sentinel, but no-one seemed to care at all about the man. He was starting to wonder if there even was a man worth knowing after all this time.

"Will you be needing anything further, Mr. Jim?" Gabe asked from the doorway.

"Not tonight. Thanks, Gabe." Jim leaned against the balcony railing, turning the empty beer bottle over and over in his hands. He wondered what Frank and Cindy would do if he just up and vanished. For all he knew, Frank had found a way to tag him with a GPS chip or something, just in case. Still, the idea of sneaking away held allure for him. If he could just get a couple of weeks to himself, without all the hangers-on…it would be worth the shit storm he'd face when he came home.

Nodding to himself, he made a plan. As long as he left a note for Cindy he could stave off a nation-wide manhunt. She'd spin it so he was off on a retreat or something, and the newshounds would go crazy trying to figure out where he was staying. In the meantime, he could fetch his old truck out of storage and hit the highway. Maybe he'd just drive around, get out of Cascade…hell, out of Washington altogether! There had to be someplace he could go where no-one would recognize him. Someplace he could see if he was still a man worth knowing, without all the Sentinel nonsense mucking things up.

*o*o*o*

The old '69 Ford truck headed south down Interstate 5, classic rock blaring from the speakers. Jim had one arm propped in the window, enjoying the feel of the wind moving across his arm. It was a beautiful, sunny day and he was free!

Slipping his keepers had been easy enough. His security detail was a bit lax when he was at home – all he'd had to do was send them to the kitchen for a nice big breakfast. He'd packed a bag the night before so all that was left to do was send off an e-mail to Cindy, shut down the outside surveillance cameras, and walk right out the front door.

Getting the truck had been a bit trickier. He kept it in a public garage downtown, under an assumed name. In order to get there without being recognized, he slipped into a jumpsuit he'd swiped from one of his groundskeepers, threw a floppy hat on his head, and altered both is posture and his voice. It wasn't the best disguise, but it fooled the garage attendant. Besides, who would believe that the Sentinel of Cascade drove around in an old clunker? Especially one registered to Jay Miles.

Three hours later he crossed the border from Washington to Oregon, and the rest of the tension he'd been carrying in his shoulders dissipated. If they hadn't found him by now, he was in the clear. He got off the interstate at Tigard and headed west to the coast. From there he figured he could follow route 101 all the way to California. He just had to make sure he stayed off the radar, which meant avoiding all the big touristy areas.

At noon he stopped at a fast food place, ordering from the drive-through and then eating in his car. He relished the greasy fries and double cheeseburger, which was good but not as good as Wonderburger. He briefly contemplated not taking his pill, but the habit was too ingrained and he was honestly worried about what would happen if he didn't.

He flipped on the radio, finding a news channel. It would be easy enough to find out if Cindy had gotten his e-mail; if she hadn't, he'd be all over the news. When the noon report ended without mentioning him at all, he grinned. Later on he'd check his cell phone for messages and see just how pissed off everyone was.

Jim got back on the road, fiddling with the radio to try and find a station he could listen to. When he heard his name he took his hand off the dial and listened. It was some kind of talk show, with a group of brainiac "experts" discussing the implications of Cascade's Sentinel still not having a Guide.

_"I think the real question here is how long the Sentinel can continue to be affective without a Guide."_

_ "The trouble, Ed, is that we still know so little about the role of the Guide. What is it, exactly, that they do for the Sentinel? We only have Burton's research to work from and that was far from complete."_

_ "One thing I think we can all agree on is that not anyone can be a Guide. The Sentinel has had more than his share of volunteers over the years, and not one of them has been suitable."_

_ "But is that something we can lay down as fact, Will? Isn't it more likely that the Sentinel just refuses to pick someone? He hasn't settled down with a woman, and maybe this is the same thing. He doesn't want to burden himself with a Guide. And let's face it…he hasn't seemed to need one."_

Jim rolled his eyes and changed the channel, finding another classic rock station. He didn't know anything more about the role of the Guide than those talking heads did. Dr. Walts, the anthropologist who'd found him and helped him when his senses first came online, had said that a Guide was someone that watched the Sentinel's back. Well, he already had plenty of people doing that. He wasn't interested in yet another hanger-on that served no purpose, no matter how many women – or men – showed up at his doorstep, volunteering. Besides, that's what the pills were for.

When he got to Depoe Bay, Jim pulled off at the harbor and got out of the truck to stretch his legs. He'd always loved being near the water; it was the soothing sound of the waves and the salty mist that landed on his skin like butterfly kisses. He took a deep breath, filling his senses with it all. It was a nice

change to be able to travel somewhere and just enjoy the scenery, instead of working crime scenes and only seeing the inside of police departments.

He reached in the passenger side window and popped the glove compartment, pulling out his road atlas. He estimated he had another six hours or so before he'd be in California. Once he got there, he'd figure out what he wanted to do next. Northern California would be warm and green, and he had no doubt he could lose himself there for a little while.

Jim couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much fun.

*o*o*o*

Four hours later and Jim felt there was something wrong, though he couldn't pin down why he felt that way. The truck was running great, he hadn't hit any traffic, had plenty of gas…so why did he feel so anxious all of a sudden? He found himself repeatedly checking the rearview mirror, though he could see that no-one was following him.

He turned on the radio for a distraction, listening without any real interest to baseball scores and the latest political news. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel as he checked his mirrors again. And then he heard the latest Sentinel report and grinned smugly.

_The Sentinel of Cascade is taking a well-deserved rest at a renowned health spa, the name of which is being withheld for the sake of privacy. All of his public appearances have been postponed for the next two weeks. In financial news…_

Good old Cindy! She'd probably dismember him when he went home, but at least she was giving him the two weeks he'd asked for. Of all the superfluous staff he found himself employing, he liked her best. She at least listened to his opinion, unlike Frank who just asked for it and then did what he wanted. He decided to tell his business manager to give Cindy a raise when he got back.

His good mood didn't last long. When he saw the signs for Wedderburn he almost had to pull the truck over, he had such a feeling of anxiety. What the hell was wrong with him? He checked the time; his next pill wasn't due for another two and a half hours. Maybe he just needed to get something to eat.

Jim turned off at Gold Beach and drove around a bit until he found a place that sounded good. He found streetside parking and walked up the sidewalk to the Panther's Den Pizza and Deli. He kept his baseball cap on and slouched, trying not to draw attention to himself. The place was full of teenagers, not surprising since it was right across from the high school, but he was able to get a table in the back where he could tuck himself away in a corner.

"What can I get for you, honey?" The waitress was seventy if she was a day and Jim fought back a grin. He gave the menu a cursory once-over.

"Two slices of the meat lover's and a side salad. Ranch dressing."

"Beer?"

"Yeah, that would be great. Thanks."

While he waited, Jim checked his voicemail. There were several angry messages from Frank, a terse one from Cindy saying she hoped he appreciated the position she'd put him in and he better damn well be doing something good, and one from Georgia pouting that she'd have liked to go to the health spa with him and why hadn't he asked her. He deleted all the messages with just a bit of savage glee.

"Just passing through, sweetie?" the waitress asked when she came back with his salad.

"Yeah. Heading west."

"Lots of good camping out this way. You look like one of those outdoorsy types."

The waitress left and Jim sat there, confused. West? Why had he said that? But suddenly that seemed exactly right. It had been a long time since he'd been camping and he had the urge to do just that. Some camping, some fishing, communing with nature…why hadn't he thought of that before? It was perfect! He attacked his salad with gusto, glad to finally have a plan.

Two and a half hours later Jim rolled into Grants Pass. It was well after nine and dark and he needed to find someplace to stay for the night. Once he'd decided to drive out this way, all of the anxiety he'd been feeling had disappeared just as mysteriously as it came. He tried not to worry too much into it. When in doubt, blame it on Sentinel stuff.

He ended up getting a room at a Motel 6. If Frank knew he was staying there, he'd have a heart attack. The Sentinel of Cascade only stayed at four star hotels and resorts. After being in the truck all day, though, he didn't much care where he slept so long as he had a nice, flat surface to lay on. The king sized bed was a bit firmer than he liked, but that was alright. The sheets were too itchy, though, and that reminded him that he needed to take his pill.

He stretched out on the bed, still fully dressed, and crossed his hands behind his head. It was noisy here; at home he had white noise generators throughout the house to keep his hearing on a more even keel. Of all his heightened senses, that one most often cranked up on him even with the meds. But he found he didn't mind it so much, because the sounds here were different, not the sounds of home, and that was definitely a good thing.

Jim fell asleep in his clothes, not waking once the whole night.

*o*o*o*

Jim was up and out early the following morning. He'd consulted his map, trying to figure out where to go from Grants Pass. One place seemed to stand out to him and so he asked the counter girl at the Bluestone Bakery if she knew of any good campsites in Wolf Creek.

"There's lots of good camping around here," the girl – her nametag said Angie – replied. "Out at Wolf Creek, I'd probably say Garrett Lake. If you need any gear, we have an Outdoor Outlet here in town. Get you all set up."

"I'll check that out," he replied. Hard to go camping without camping gear.

Angie handed him a large coffee and something called a Bagel Buster, which was essentially a breakfast egg sandwich with bacon, cream cheese, tomato and green onion added to the mix. She studied him a bit too closely as she gave him his order.

"You look familiar."

"I get that a lot," he said hastily. He snatched up his food and coffee and hurried out the door. That last thing he needed was a Sentinel sighting in Grants Pass; the press would descend like locust.

He found the outlet store and was glad he'd brought so much cash with him. Camping gear wasn't cheap, and he knew better than to use his credit cards while on this little trip; Frank would no doubt be checking for activity so he could track him down and drag him back home.

An hour later the bed of his truck was loaded down with new purchases, including a one-person Kelty tent, a fully-outfitted camp kitchen, a lounge chair, and Slumberjack oversized sleeping bag. He had no idea what he was going to do with all this stuff when he got home, since the chances of him getting to use it again were slim. But he was going all out, so he also stopped by the grocery store to pick up foodstuffs and paper supplies that would last him at least a week.

It was only a twenty minute drive from Grants Pass to Wolf Creek, which was a much smaller town. Quaint was really the only word for it. Lots of antique stores and craft shops with a wolf motif. He passed Wolf Creek Tavern on his way to Garrett Lake and made a note of it, in case he got tired of his own cooking. The signs for the campground led him to a seasonal road that gave the shocks on the truck a nice workout. Climbing higher up into the mountains, Jim felt certain that this was exactly where he needed to be.

Finally he reached the campsite, pulling into a graveled parking lot next to the Visitor's Center/Registration building. Everything here was painted dark brown, presumably in an effort to blend in more with the surroundings, but the door of the Visitor's Center was bright blue. Inside it turned out to also be a bit of a nature museum, with the pre-requisite stuffed beavers and squirrels displayed in replicas of their natural habitats.

It only took fifteen minutes to fill out the necessary paperwork and then Jim was driving over a rutted path to his campsite. A quick check told him that all but one of the nearest sites to his was empty. It was perfect. He parked the truck between his site and the one on the left, noting that while it was all set up there was no-one home.

The tent went up fast, and he took his time setting up the rest of his campsite. There was surprising pleasure in the task, and Jim figured that was because he was doing it himself. He was able to organize everything just the way he wanted it and he liked the way everything looked when it was set up. The site was right on the lake, and he set up the lounge chair to face it. The portable table went next to the fire pit, loaded down with the camp stove and cooking gear, and below it was the brand new Coleman cooler, full of ice and perishable foodstuffs.

Jim checked the map the camp ranger had given him, noting the locations of the restrooms, showers, fresh water spigot, and camp store. There were a variety of hiking trails, but he thought he'd just hang out here for a while. He sat in the lounge chair, resting his head back, and contemplated the lake. Off in the distance he could see a couple of people in canoes, and one in a kayak. There was some noise from campsites further down the way, though not a lot of it. He thought he'd have no trouble relaxing here.

*o*o*o*

It was late afternoon when Jim got back to camp, after having taken a nice, leisurely stroll along the lakeshore. He felt more relaxed than he had in a very long time, and was actually humming. His neighbor was back; Jim could hear him rustling around inside his tent. There was an old Volvo parked off to the side and he marveled that the thing had made it up the seasonal road.

He'd worked up an appetite, so he pulled out a couple of the pre-packaged Angus burgers he'd bought. He didn't have any wood for the fire, so he used the camp stove to fry them up. A little melted cheese, some sliced onion, and they were good to go. He considered the bag of potato chips a suitable side dish, promising himself real vegetables tomorrow to make up for it.

Jim kept an ear on his neighbor, hearing when he came out of his tent and started up a fire. His site had seemed pretty rudimentary, just an old tent, a cooler and some lanterns. Either he didn't have much money to spend on camping gear, or he really preferred roughing it. It was none of his business either way, but still he couldn't stop himself from listening in.

He'd finished the first burger and was considering whether or not he really wanted the second, when he realized he didn't smell any food being cooked next door. Deciding to take just a peek over the hood of the truck, he saw the guy sitting cross-legged on the ground, eating trail mix out of a Ziploc bag. He was dressed in flannel and denim, and his hair was long and curly. Jim couldn't see much of his face because of the way he was sitting, but he seemed young. Mid-twenties maybe.

He was suddenly unsure of himself. He wanted to offer this guy his other burger; something was telling him that the guy was short of funds, because who else ate trail mix for dinner? On the other hand, he'd come here to get away from everyone and didn't need some random camper discovering that he'd pitched his tent next to the Sentinel. Eventually it was practicality that won out – if he didn't give the other burger away, it would just get wasted.

"Hey, there," he called. His neighbor flinched before turning all the way around. Jim grimaced in sympathy. This guy was sporting one heck of a bruise on the right side of his face. His eyes were such a deep shade of blue, though, that it was easy to overlook the damage.

"Hey," the stranger replied hesitantly.

Jim's detective instincts came to the fore. Something was off about this guy. Then he reminded himself that he was getting away from it all, and that included cop work. Unless this guy tried to murder him in his sleep, he didn't care what troubles he had.

"I made one too many burgers. I'd hate to have to toss it. You interested?"

The guy shrugged. "I'm good."

"Well, okay. If you're sure." Jim shrugged and turned away, grinning when he heard his neighbor get to his feet.

"You really going to throw it away?"

"Yup."

"Seems wasteful."

"Sure does."

"I guess I could help you out."

Jim grabbed the paper plate with the burger on it and passed it over the hood of his truck, noting that one of his neighbor's fingers was in a splint. Someone had certainly done a number on him.

"Thanks," he said. Jim watched him resume his cross-legged position on the ground, tearing into the burger like a starving man. Well, no wonder. No-one could live on granola. Determined to put the guy out of his mind, Jim went back to his own business. He cleaned up the fry pan and put the rest of the chips away, then settled in his lounge chair with a beer to watch the sun go down over the lake.

And even though he wasn't really listening, he knew when his neighbor finished eating and settled in with a book. That made Jim wish he had something to read, and so he decided to head back to Grants Pass in the morning for a few more supplies.

When he went to bed for the night, the flannel inside his sleeping bag nice and soft on his skin, Jim found himself wondering what his neighbor's name was.

*o*o*o*

Jim fried up a couple of eggs and some bacon for breakfast, and might have been inclined to offer some to his neighbor if the man hadn't still been sleeping. Once he'd cleaned up and visited the bathroom – the smell of which made his eyes water – he hopped in the truck and made the drive back to Grants Pass. He could've just gone to the camp store for a book, but after one night sleeping in the tent he realized he needed some kind of air mattress. He'd gotten soft, he thought with disgust. When he was in the Rangers he slept on the cold, hard ground without any trouble.

For some reason, once he was in Outdoor Outlet he felt inclined to purchase another camp chair. It wasn't as nice as the lounger, but it did have a built-in cup holder. A visit to a used bookstore turned up a Jack London novel and the latest Elmore Leonard. His business concluded, he topped off the gas tank and made his way back to the campground.

Once he got there, he felt awkward. New chair in hand, he went next door where his neighbor was just coming out of his tent, bleary eyed and clearly just waking up.

"Oh, uh…hi again."

His neighbor eyed him warily, staying close to the tent as if that flimsy construction could offer him protection.

"I was just over in Grants Pass…had to get an air mattress. And, uh, the outlet store was having a special." Yeah, right. That sounded lame, even to him. He was usually much smoother than this. "Buy a mattress, get a chair. And I already have one, so I thought maybe you'd like it."

The guy narrowed his eyes, looking suspicious. "You're giving it to me?"

"Well…no? I mean, you could borrow it. Cause I already have one."

"Yeah. Okay. Just a loaner, though, right?"

"Yup." Jim set the chair down and practically ran back over to his own campsite. Could he have sounded like a bigger idiot? Honestly. If Cindy could've seen that display she'd have had him back in etiquette classes before his head could spin. And that wasn't even the point. He had no business bothering the guy next door, not when he himself was supposed to be keeping a low profile.

Grabbing his backpack and some bottled water, Jim headed out to tackle one of the hiking trails. When he passed his neighbor's campsite, he saw the guy sitting on the chair, his feet propped up on his cooler. And found it hard to regret having given it to him.

*o*o*o*

Jim wondered how his life would have been different if his senses hadn't gone nuts. Would he have gotten re-married? He imagined poker nights with the guys, and quiet evenings snuggling with his wife in front of the fireplace. Walking down any street in Cascade in the middle of the day and not having anyone give him a second look. The few friends he'd had before the Sentinel thing had either been too freaked out to hang with him, or had been left behind in the media firestorm. Anyone who wanted to befriend him now was either trying to get their fifteen minutes of fame, or was after the things they knew Jim could give them – money, cars, and fame by association.

The worst ones were the Guide volunteers. They were supposed to go through Dr. Walts for screening, but it seemed every time he turned around they were at his door or knocking on the tinted windows of his SUV. They showed up everywhere, hoping he'd choose them. He didn't know if they thought being a Guide was the same thing as being a wife, but the women certainly acted as if they did. There had been plenty of pretty ones, but he hadn't been drawn to any of them. Besides which, Cindy usually set up his dates and those were with high-profile, connected women. No connections there, either, unless you counted some casual sex that had been mutually enjoyable but fairly forgettable.

Not for the first time Jim wished the senses would just go away. His life had changed when they came online, and not for the better. He'd been a good detective without them, though he had to admit the edge they gave him was amazing. And that's why he was constantly on loan-out to other police departments, the Feds, even Search and Rescue; he had a reputation for finding what others could not.

With a sigh, Jim took a long drink of water and headed back down the trail. The scenery here was gorgeous – everything was so verdant and wild. What he wouldn't give to stay here permanently, far away from all the people who wanted him for what he could do instead of who he was.

He swung by the camp store on the way back to his site, to pick up a bundle of firewood. He was relieved to see that his neighbor was out; presumably hiking as well since his car was still there, which meant no awkward attempts at conversation on his part. He flopped down in the lounge chair and watched the ducks out across the lake until he drifted off to sleep.

*o*o*o*

Jim woke with a blinding headache and his hearing thrown all out of whack. He fell out of the chair and landed painfully on his knees, hands clapped over his ears. Pills. He had to get his pills. He couldn't remember if he'd taken them or not that afternoon. Staggering to his feet, he lurched toward his tent. Were they in there? He couldn't remember, couldn't think.

With his eyes winched tightly shut, he dropped back to his knees and fumbled for the zipper with one hand. He could hear the waves lapping on the shore, kids squealing and shouting on the playground near the Visitor's Center, people talking, people laughing, people washing their dishes. Somewhere water was dripping, and someone was kicking around a ball. He abandoned the tent, needing his hand to block out the noise.

And then it all pulled back, not entirely but enough to not hurt so much. Jim became aware that someone had their hand on his arm and he opened his eyes a little. His neighbor came into blurry view, squatting next to him with a concerned look on his face. His voice, when he spoke, was low and soft and soothed some of his headache away.

"What can I do?"

"Pills," Jim gasped.

His neighbor nodded and unzipped the tent, ducking inside. As soon as he removed his hand from Jim's arm, the wave of sound washed over him again and he curled in on himself to try and get away from it.

"Okay, here we go. How many? Hey, man, how many do you take?" The voice and the touch were back. Jim held up one trembling finger and heard his neighbor shake the little bottle. A tiny blue pill was pressed into his hand and he immediately stuck it in his mouth and dry swallowed it. While he waited for it to take effect, the guy with all the curly hair stayed with him, rubbing his back.

When the pain had finally receded to a more tolerable level and the noise had been pushed back down, Jim was exceedingly embarrassed. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten to take his afternoon pill, couldn't believe his twitchy neighbor had to see him like that.

"Thanks," he mumbled. The guy helped him get to his feet and handled him a bottle of water.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

His neighbor gave him an odd look. "Why are you apologizing? That looked pretty painful."

Jim just shrugged.

"My name's Blair." He stuck his hand out.

"Jay," Jim replied, using his alias. They shook hands.

"Well, Jay, why don't you let me cook you dinner. I owe you one anyway."

Jim looked at him uncertainly. "What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know. What do you have in your cooler?"

That surprised a laugh out of him, and released some of the tension he'd been feeling. Blair grinned back at him.

"I have a couple steaks. But I'll only let you cook if you join me for dinner."

"Well, I'll have to check my busy social calendar, but I should be free." Blair helped Jim over to the lounge chair and made him sit back down. "I'll let you know when it's ready."

As soon as Blair's back was turned Jim angled the chair so he could watch him. The younger man tied back his curly hair and rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. He was shorter and more compact than Jim, but he moved very gracefully. And seemed quite at ease with all the camping equipment. He dug through the cooler, and the box of non-perishables, and got a fire going in the fire pit. At one point he went back to his campsite and returned with the chair and some spice bottles. He didn't seem to mind that Jim was watching him.

"I know this guy, Greg," Blair said, chatting while he worked. "Suffered terrible migraines. Tried every medication out there, but nothing worked. Then he went to see this guy, I forget his name, he was a visualization specialist or something. Told my friend to envision a radio dial in his mind, and imagine that dial controlled his pain. When it got too bad, Greg just had to close his eyes and visualize turning down the dial. The meds never worked, but that technique did. He was like a changed man after that."

"Sounds kind of dubious to me, Chief," Jim said. His own headache was now just a faint throbbing at the back of his head.

"Yeah, well, it's not for everyone obviously. But it couldn't hurt to try. I mean, even though your pill worked, wouldn't it be nice not to need it?"

Jim thought about that for a while. He had to take the damn things three times a day, so it would be nice not to have to think about that all the time. But the pills were the only things that kept his senses nice and level, and he didn't want to lose that.

"You ever want to give it a try, let me know," Blair said over his shoulder. "Is this your first time camping? All your stuff looks brand new."

"No, it's just been a real long time since I've been. Never been to this part of Oregon before." He'd worked a case in Portland three years ago, though he didn't get to see much of that city beyond body dump sites.

"My first time too. I'm a grad student at UCLA."

"Really? I was going to go to California before I changed my mind and decided to come here." Jim didn't mention how spur of the moment his decision to come to Wolf Creek had been, he'd already displayed enough crazy for one day. He wanted to ask Blair about the bruise on his face, but he couldn't figure out any casual way to bring that up, and he didn't want to pry. It wasn't any of his business, he reminded himself.

"I hope you don't like your steak well done." Blair handed him a plate, steak steaming and teasing at Jim's sense of smell. He'd also wrapped ears of corn in foil and stuck them in the fire; they were a little singed but the corn was nice and crisp.

"This is great. Thanks."

They ate in silence. Whatever spices Blair had used on the steak were subtle but gave the meat a flavor it wouldn't have had if Jim had cooked it. He thought it was funny that this guy brought spices but not any food on his camping trip. He still had the feeling that Blair was involved in something he shouldn't be, but he was fairly confident that he wouldn't be murdered in his sleep.

"The beauty of cooking over the grill is there's nothing to clean," Blair said, tossing the paper plates into the garbage. "Hang on and I'll be right back with dessert."

He went around the truck to his campsite, and returned with two Devil Dogs. Jim laughed, accepting one of them. "I see you brought all the essentials with you."

"I know they have no nutritional value, but man, I just love these things." From the look on Blair's face when he ate it, there was no doubt about that in Jim's mind.

When they were done eating, they turned their chairs towards the lake to watch the sun go down. If he'd been home right now, Jim would be at the opening of a new club in Seattle that catered to law enforcement. It was even called The Law. He imagined being surrounded by a hundred and fifty cops who all resented him and thanked himself again for taking this trip.

"So what brings you to the wilds of Oregon?" Blair asked.

"Just needed some time away," Jim replied. "My life gets crazy."

"Yeah, mine too. Especially around exam time. I teach some courses, so I have papers and tests to go through. Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in paperwork. Plus I'm working on my doctorate. Doesn't give me a lot of free time."

"What do you teach?"

"Anthropology."

"Oh," Jim said stupidly. Anthropology. Sentinels were required reading now for all budding anthropologists, Dr. Walts had told him all about it. He looked at Blair out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't seemed to recognize him, was that even possible?

"You don't have to say it like that," Blair laughed. "I know, it sounds totally boring. But it really is interesting. There're, like, so many connections between the past and the present. That's the part I like, because it shows that human beings are generally the same despite vast differences in culture and belief systems. I've been all over the world, man, and there are more similarities than differences."

"Yeah?" Jim asked, mostly to show he was still listening. There was a warmth and excitement in Blair's voice when he talked that showed how much he really enjoyed his subject.

"Oh, sure. For example, we all have the same emotions. They may not always be expressed the same, but they're there. Anger, happiness…loneliness. These emotions are universal. The differences come in how you deal with those emotions, and how culturally accepted it is to act upon them."

"Hard to be lonely when you're surrounded by people all the time," Jim muttered.

"Just because you're in a crowd doesn't mean you're not alone," Blair said softly. "Unless there's someone in that crowd that really knows you, understands you, then yeah, you can be lonely in a sea of thousands. Or you can be completely happy and content with just one person, if it's the right person."

"You found that person yet?" Jim asked, curious.

"Not yet. But I'm sure he's out there."

He wanted to ask Blair about Sentinels, but he was afraid to bring it up. If he hadn't recognized him by now, hopefully he wouldn't. No sense drawing his attention to it.

"You said you've traveled a lot," Jim said. "Where've you been?"

"Oh, all over! You name it, I've probably been there. My mom is a very free-spirited person, and we were constantly on the move when I was a kid. Egypt, Scotland, Russia, India…I've been everywhere. Lots of traveling here in the states, too."

Blair told him stories from his years on the road, some funny and others poignant, and Jim just listened. The younger man had a nice, deep voice that flowed over him in a strangely soothing way. The last remnants of his headache disappeared and he relaxed completely.

Finally, Blair wound down. Darkness had fallen and Jim's campsite was lit only by the dying embers of the fire. He could still see fine, and saw the other man studying him as best he could with normal vision.

"I'm gonna head back over," he said finally. "Thanks for dinner."

"Thanks for cooking," Jim replied. "I…uh…I make pretty good scrambled eggs. If you want to come back for breakfast."

Blair grinned. "I never say no to scrambled eggs." He folded up his chair. "Goodnight, Jay."

"Night." Suddenly his nice evening seemed tainted. Blair seemed really nice, had talked openly about himself, but Jim had been lying from the get-go; he couldn't even tell the other man his real name. Of course, Blair hadn't asked any probing questions about him, not where he was from or what he did for a living; he tried not to read too much into that.

That night when Jim crawled in his sleeping bag, his hearing picked up the sound of Blair's heartbeat. Every other sound seemed to fade away until that was all he could hear. There was something so incredibly comforting about that solid tha-thump, tha-thump. Wrapping the sound around him like a blanket, Jim drifted off to sleep.

*o*o*o*

"Love camping, hate camp bathrooms," Blair said when he shuffled over to Jim's site for breakfast the next morning. "They always seem to smell like outhouses, and I've been in plenty of those, trust me."

Jim just grinned and passed over a plate of bacon and eggs. "I know what you mean. It about kills me to go in there."

"Maybe we should work on dials for smell." Blair took a deep breath over his plate. "I'd totally dial it up for this. Is that cheese in there?"

"Yeah. Makes them moist."

"Mmmm," Blair agreed around a mouthful of eggs.

Jim poured them each a glass of orange juice before tucking into his own breakfast. While he ate he thought about what Blair had said about the dials. It sounded so silly, but what if it worked? The pills kept everything at the same level, which was higher than normal people's senses could go, but he couldn't turn them down and sometimes he really wished he could. Like when he had to use the camp bathroom.

"How would you do it?" Jim asked. "Help someone do the dials?"

Blair looked at him thoughtfully. "You want me to walk you through it? It could help with your headaches."

Jim nodded and set aside his plate.

"Okay, well, first you need to close your eyes. Take a deep breath…now let it out. Let yourself relax."

Blair's voice rolled over him, and it was like he could almost feel it, silky against his skin. He was familiar with deep breathing exercises; Dr. Walts had brought someone in back in the early days, before they had perfected the pills, to try to get him to control things on his own. It hadn't worked very well, but he still recalled how to do the deep breathing.

"Now that you're relaxed, I want you to picture a radio dial. It's the kind with numbers on it, one through ten. Label that dial. The next time you get a headache, just picture that dial and visualize it turning down to a lower number. Just keep lowering it until the pain becomes tolerable."

"Couldn't I just turn it to zero?" Jim asked, his eyes still closed.

"No. There is no zero on that dial, and don't you go adding it. You need to be able to modulate your pain, not turn it off completely. You could do more damage to yourself if you couldn't feel any pain at all."

"Okay," Jim said agreeably. He saw the dial in his head, and added a label that said _smell_ under it. Figuring his senses were about a five with the pills, he imagined the dial slowly turning up to seven. And suddenly he was surrounded by the scent of Blair. Some kind of fruity shampoo, the light smell of soap, an earthy undertone that must've been just the natural scent of the man. Jim turned the dial back to five, and most of the smell backed off. But now that he could isolate it as being Blair, he could still smell it, just not as strongly.

"It worked!" he said, delighted.

"What worked?"

Oops. Jim opened his eyes. Blair was looking at him with a calculating expression. "Uh…the dial. It worked, I could see the dial."

"Okay."

To his relief, Blair didn't call him on the obvious lie. And he honestly had trouble worrying about it; he was so excited that it had worked. When he was alone later he wanted to try making dials for the rest of the senses. There was still one important test, and Jim excused himself so he could go to the bathroom. When he got close enough to smell it, he closed his eyes and pictured the dial. He turned it down to the lowest setting and wanted to cheer out loud when the scent almost completely vanished.

He was feeling so happy that when he got back to his camp, he impulsively invited Blair to come with him on a hike.

"There's supposed to be a scenic trail that goes around the other side of the lake," Jim said. "You interested?"

"Sure. Let me get my stuff."

Blair went back to his camp to get ready and Jim couldn't help noticing that this time he left his chair behind. There was no reason why that should make him feel good, but it did.

*o*o*o*

Jim should've been annoyed by the fact that Blair talked non-stop on their hike, but the kid had really interesting stories to tell of the places he'd traveled to and the people he'd met. He'd been on several anthropological expeditions and his exploits with native tribes made Jim laugh out loud.

"…so they expected me to wrestle with the Chieftan's son. I kept trying to explain that I just wanted to examine their burial site and not marry the girl, but they wouldn't listen."

"What did you do?"

"I grabbed poor Charlie, our photographer, and gave him a big kiss. He was mortified, but I finally got the message across." Blair laughed. "You should've seen his face! He stopped going out in the field after that."

"Scared him straight, sounds like," Jim replied with a grin.

"So what about you? You married?"

Jim didn't like having the focus back on himself, but after a minute decided it wouldn't hurt to answer the question. After all, Blair had been talking about himself all morning.

"I was, a few years ago. Didn't work out."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "We got married for the wrong reasons. She thought she could change me and I thought being married was better than being alone. We were both wrong."

"Do you believe in the forever kind of love?"

"Maybe. I've never seen it myself, but it would be nice to think it's out there. Just not for me." Of course, he was sure Cindy could spin him a very nice romance if she ever got the urge.

"Why not for you?" Blair asked. "I think there's someone out there for everyone, sometimes it just takes a while to find them."

"I travel a lot. For work. All that time apart isn't good for a marriage; I learned that the hard way." Jim couldn't imagine having a woman waiting for him at home. Whenever he tried to picture it, he thought of Carolyn and how much she'd cried about him loving his job more than her. And that was before his senses had kicked in. Not all distances were physical, he knew that well enough. He just didn't think he could ever settle down with anyone, not with the fishbowl he lived in. How could he be sure the woman wasn't with him just for the money and celebrity? That's why everyone else hung around.

"Don't give up on love, Jay. It's the best thing going out there, and everyone deserves some of it."

"Your glass is always half full, isn't it?" Jim teased.

"Positive thoughts draw good karma." Blair stopped, pointing. "Wow! Look at that view!"

They'd come to an overlook on the trail and the vista was certainly stunning. Green mountain peaks rose up before them, and below was the valley and the lake, shimmering under the early afternoon sunshine.

"All your problems just seem to disappear when you see something like that, don't they?" Blair leaned on the safety rail, his voice soft. "It's good to remember how small we really are in the grand scheme of things."

Jim didn't know why he chose that moment to ask the question that had been on his mind since the day he'd met Blair, and as soon as it was out there he wished he could take it back.

"Do your problems have anything to do with that bruise?"

Blair looked up at him and shook his head, a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. "Took you a long time to ask."

"I'm sorry," Jim apologized. "It's none of my business, really."

"It's okay." Blair sighed. "I borrowed money from the wrong person. Couldn't pay it back, so some of his friends came to see me. End of story."

"Loan shark?" Jim guessed. He felt a bit disappointed, wondering what the kid had needed the money for. Gambling debts? Drugs?

"I know what you're thinking, but the money was for my car."

"Your car?"

"I have a lot of college loans and expenses, and very little income. My car was going to be repossessed, so I borrowed money to pay it off. Only then I couldn't pay back the loan."

Jim just stared at him. "You went to a loan shark to get money to pay off your car? Who does that?"

"It's a classic car!" Blair protested defensively.

Jim put his hand over his mouth, amusement warring with incredulity. In the end they were both overwhelmed by concern.

"Are you hiding out from this guy up here?"

"I know it's not the best plan. Eventually I have to go back to school. But I'll think of something by then, I always do."

Jim's first instinct was to offer him the money to get clear of the loan shark, but he quickly reconsidered. Blair was a nice guy and everything, but he was still essentially a stranger and you didn't go offering money to strangers. Even if it couldn't be all that much money, not for that clunky Volvo.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked instead. It was a test, he knew, and suddenly a lot seemed to be riding on Blair's response.

"Fake identity? Relocation to Mexico?" He chuckled. "I'm sure there's a simpler answer. Maybe I could find a cheaper apartment or something, and pay this guy back in installments. I wonder how interested he'd be in setting up a payment plan."

Jim breathed a sigh of relief, glad the kid hadn't asked him for money. It made him more willing to want to give it to him. "Can't help with the fake identity, but I could give you the money. Uh, how much do you owe him?"

Blair shot him a dirty look. "I wasn't fishing for funding, Jay. I got myself into this mess, and I'll get myself out of it."

"Calm down, Chief," Jim said, holding up his hands. "Just trying to keep you from getting pummeled again."

"Yeah, well, you should see the other guy," he replied darkly.

"I'll bet. Come on, let's head back. I don't know about you, but I'm hungry." Jim turned and started to walk away, but Blair didn't follow. When he looked back, he saw the younger man standing in the middle of the trail, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm not a charity case," he said slowly. "Or some stray puppy you need to take care of."

Jim bit back a grin. "Yeah, I know that. All I'm saying is I'm going to make some food. And you're welcome to share it. I like the company."

"Just so we're clear," Blair insisted.

"We're clear. Jeez. Will you just come on?"

Just like that his face cleared and he returned to his normally ebullient self. "Speaking of food, have you ever had to eat grubs? I was in Borneo a few years ago and our jeep broke down…"

*o*o*o*

When Jim crawled into his tent that night he was feeling pleasantly content. He'd let Blair do most of the talking over dinner, wishing he had more to contribute that wouldn't give him away. They'd finished off the rest of the Devil Dogs and chatted until well after dark.

Now he stretched himself out on the air mattress and did the deep breathing exercises. He wanted to make dials for all of his senses, completely enthralled with the idea of having more control over them. When he was nice and relaxed he created a line of radio dials in his head, labeling each one: _sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell_. Remembering what Blair had told him, he made sure none of the dials started at zero.

Once he had a clear picture of the dials, he slowly turned up hearing. All the night noises amplified until he was certain he could hear individual cricket legs rubbing together. He sought out Blair's heartbeat, grinning when the sound of it roared in his ears. When the cacophony of sound got to be too much, he dialed it back down; everything but the heartbeat faded back to normal. Jim decided that he'd forgo his morning pill and see how well he could control things without it.

He turned his thoughts to Blair's loan shark problem. The kid wouldn't accept any money from him, but there had to be something he could do. For the small amount of money that had to be involved, it seemed crazy that he'd sent goons to beat Blair up. Was he looking for him even now, or just lying in wait until he got home? Maybe Jim could invoke the wrath of the Sentinel when he got back to Cascade. Anyone under his protection generally was left alone, and he couldn't deny the urge he felt to protect Blair. Even though they'd only just met, he felt a real connection there.

Jim could hear his neighbor writing and wondered idly if he kept a journal. He should write a book, all about his travels – he was a good storyteller. Or maybe he was doing school work. While he tried to imagine just what Blair was working on, Jim fell asleep.

*o*o*o*

_He was wandering through a blue landscape, full of trees and vines and wild animal sounds. It was not unfamiliar; he'd been here from time to time through the years. Always wandering, never seeing or hearing anyone even with his heightened senses. This time something was different. There was a tension in the air, as if the jungle were waiting. But waiting for what?_

_ Jim walked on, finding a path through the trees. This was new. He followed it and found himself in a clearing dominated by a stone monolith that reached several feet above his head. There were carvings on the surface that meant nothing to him, though he felt they should. He made one complete circle around it, and when he came back to where he started he found himself face to face with a man he hadn't seen since his time in Peru._

_ "Incacha?" Jim asked._

_ "Who are you?"_

_ "The Sentinel of Cascade," he replied with certainty. Incacha's eyes narrowed._

_ "Who are you?"_

_ "I'm…I'm a Sentinel." Less sure now._

_ "Who are _you_?"_

_ "Jim Ellison."_

_ And that at last seemed to be the correct answer, because Incacha's expression softened._

_ "What do you fear, Jim Ellison?"_

_ Even here, in the dream, he was loathe to admit it. But Incacha just looked back at him, waiting patiently._

_ "I fear being alone."_

_ "What do you fear, Jim Ellison?"_

_ "Being unwanted."_

_ "Only you have power against your fears."_

_ "But what if I'm wrong?"_

_ Incacha smiled. "You will control your fears or they will control you."_

_ Jim wanted that control, more than anything. He wanted to take his life back, though part of him felt it was too late, that he'd missed his chance. Incacha reached out his hand and placed it over Jim's heart._

_ "Follow your heart, Enqueri. Believe."_

_ And then Incacha was gone, vanished, leaving Jim standing alone in the clearing. He put his hand on the monolith, tracing the designs there. He wanted to believe._

*o*o*o*

Jim played with his senses all morning, enjoying the incredible freedom of being able to dial them up and down. Down for the bathroom, up for the scrambled eggs, up for Blair coming fresh from the shower. He'd never been able to see so far, or feel so much with just the touch of one finger.

"You're in a good mood this morning," Blair remarked. He'd gotten up too late for breakfast and so was munching a handful of trail mix.

"Guess I got up on the right side of the sleeping bag," Jim quipped. Control, he had real control, and he loved it. And part of him felt like there should be more, other ways to use his senses, other ways to exert control. He'd been nervous about not taking his pill this morning, but he could see now he had nothing to worry about. For the first time in his life, he was _owning_ it. All of it.

"Any big plans for the day?" Blair asked.

"I was going to walk the lake trail, see if there are any good fishing spots."

"Oh. Well, that sounds cool."

Jim hid a grin. He could tell the kid wanted to be asked along, like yesterday. Which was fine, since that's what he had in mind anyway. Blair was an interesting guy to have around and listening to him talk just kind of smoothed out his rough edges somehow.

"What're you doing today?"

"Nothing much." Blair shrugged. "Probably read a little."

"Sounds stimulating. Want to come with me?"

"Uh…yeah, okay. I guess. If you don't mind."

How could Jim possibly mind, when faced with that big Blair smile? Feeling especially magnanimous, he made a couple of sandwiches and tossed them in his backpack with some bottled water.

"Better enjoy the day," Jim said when Blair came back over from his campsite with his own backpack slung over his shoulders. "It's going to rain tonight."

"That's not what the weather report said."

"Trust me." Jim could smell the moisture in the air, feel the coming rain on his skin somehow. James Ellison, Cascade's Sentinel and Human Barometer. That made him chuckle, and Blair looked at him like he was crazy. He probably wasn't wrong.

Blair kept up a rambling monologue as they made their way to the lakeside trail, but Jim only listened with half his attention. The other half was messing with the sensory dials, moving them around in different configurations and seeing what the results were. Smell and taste worked well in tandem, as did vision and touch. For the first time he was excited about his senses; Dr. Walts would have a coronary.

At one point in the trail they came across the proverbial short pier, and Blair followed Jim out on it, though the weathered wooden planks didn't look all that sturdy. They sat together at the end, legs dangling just above the water, and Jim could see all the way to the bottom; there was an old radio down there, half buried in the mud.

"There's something different about you today," Blair said after a while.

"Didn't take my pill this morning," Jim replied with an unrepentant smile. His companion looked instantly concerned.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, I know you have the pain dial all set to go and everything, but shouldn't you take this more slowly?"

"I feel great, Chief. Better than I've felt in a really long time." He slung a friendly arm across Blair's shoulders. "I can't thank you enough for teaching me about the dials."

"Yeah, but…"

"Blair," Jim started to say. He turned to look at his companion, and became instantly transfixed by those shockingly blue eyes, which seemed to grow so large they filled his entire field of vision. In the bright morning sun he could see flecks of darker blue, and lighter streaks that were almost golden. There were so many layers of blue, and he felt himself falling into them. Every fleck, every imperfection, every color variation was his whole world.

After an interminable period of time, he was aware of something besides those deep pools of blue. Something was beating against him and it took him a while to realize that it was words. Someone was talking to him. And if he concentrated, he could hear his name.

"Jim? Come on man, don't do this to me. Can you hear me?"

Blair. That sounded like Blair, only he was frantic instead of calm and relaxed as he normally was. Was something wrong with him? That snapped Jim back to himself and he shook his head, disoriented.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice sounding muffled to his own ears.

"Oh, man! Oh, Jim…uh, Jay, I'm so sorry! I didn't even think about the zone outs. How could I forget about that? Stupid! Why the hell did you go off your pills? I mean, it's good you want to, but you need to take time doing stuff like that."

Blair was babbling and it took Jim a moment or two to dissect what it was he was saying. When he did, he got hastily to his feet, his whole chest tightening up. _Jim_. He'd called him by his real name. He'd called him Jim and talked about zone outs, which only Dr. Walts knew about because the pills kept that from happening.

"You asshole," Jim said, his voice wavering with emotion. "You fucking _asshole_. You've known who I am this whole time, haven't you?"

Blair gaped at him, still sitting on the end of the pier. "What?"

"What are you doing? Writing a paper? Bet you've gotten lots of Sentinel insights in the last few days, haven't you?" He couldn't keep the bitterness from showing. He'd thought this time it was different, that this man just liked hanging out with him. It hurt more than it should have.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Blair scrambled to his feet. "It's not like that!"

"Is that a fact. Why don't you tell me what it is then?"

"Yes, I know who you are. I'm an anthropologist, for Christ's sake! You're on the Freshman reading list, man! But you seemed to be keeping a low profile, and so I played along." He pushed his hair back with one hand. "I've been looking for a Sentinel since I was eight years old, and that dick Walts is the one who finds you. And screws it all up so bad, it's unbelievable! He should've helped you, instead of chasing after his own notoriety. What he did to you was _so_ wrong, you have to see that."

"And what? You're going to fix it all up for me?" Jim's hands clenched into fists at his side. "You angling for a job, cause I've got all the people I need right now. You want to get published? Get some face time?"

Now Blair was getting angry. "No! I was here first, you big jerk! I didn't follow you, or stalk you. It's just a coincidence. I assumed you were keeping the Sentinel thing under wraps, so I went along with that. Don't get pissed at me for playing along, when you're the one running away from home."

"You don't know anything about me," Jim said.

"I know the Sentinel is supposed to protect the tribe, not wine and dine it," Blair snapped. "You're a gift, man, and they've totally perverted your purpose."

"Yeah, that's me. A real gift. And I suppose you have loftier goals? Better ways to use the Sentinel of Cascade?"

"You're not just a Sentinel."

"Then what the hell am I?" It came out ragged and pleading and Jim wished he didn't sound so needy.

"You're my friend," Blair said softly. "You're a good man, despite what they've turned you into."

Jim felt the burning of tears in his eyes, but he couldn't shake that feeling of betrayal despite the kid's words. "I thought you were different," he whispered.

"Jim, please, just listen to me!"

He couldn't stand there anymore. He didn't want to listen. He turned on his heel and walked away as quickly as he could without actually breaking into a run. His senses, like his emotions, were spiking all over the place. He could hear Blair coming after him and lengthened his stride.

_You're a gift, man. You're my friend_.

Jim struggled to regain control of himself, stumbling when the light from the sun bounced off the lake and into his eyes, blinding him. Sound was muffled one second, and crashing in around him the next.

_You're my friend. You're a good man._

He clapped his hands to his ears, but kept moving forward. How could he believe the words, even if he couldn't dispute the sincerity he'd heard behind them? Blair had never asked him any questions that he hadn't been able to answer. No questions about being a Sentinel. Smell ratcheted up and he gagged on the fetid smell of the lake water.

_You're my friend. _

Jim moaned as a spike of pain drove through his head. He tried to see the dials, but he couldn't focus. There was too much going on, too much sensory input, too many emotions. He didn't realize he'd stopped walking until he felt Blair's hand on his arm, Blair's hand rubbing his back.

"It's okay, Jim. Find your pain dial. Can you see it?"

Jim shook his head, moaning at the pain even that small movement caused. "Didn't. Make one."

"What?"

"Just. Senses."

"Jesus. Okay. Focus on the dials, Jim. Start with hearing. Can you see it? Turn it down. Dial it back, way back, to two."

With Blair's hands on him, and Blair's soothing voice in his ears, he found he could finally latch on to his image of the dials. He dialed hearing down to two, and with the kid walking him through every step he did the same for the other four senses until everything was set at two and his head wasn't pounding anymore. Then he just stood there, looking down at his feet and feeling unbelievably exhausted.

"You okay, big guy?"

"Everyone wants something from me," he said softly. "No-one ever just wants me."

Blair kept his hand on Jim's back, rubbing small circles there. "I want to help you. That's all."

"I didn't plan on coming here. Spur of the moment. I turned left instead of going straight. What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Blair said soothingly. "Maybe nothing. Or maybe something brought us together. Because I can help you. Because I want to be your friend. _You_. Jim Ellison. Because I'm lonely too, and you make me feel like I don't have to be."

Jim wondered if Blair could feel the tremors that were running through his body; little earthquakes, turning his world on its side. He'd known this man for four days and he'd changed everything. They had talked and hiked and drank beer. Blair had guided him through…oh. Oh, crap.

Though he felt the loss keenly, Jim moved away from that hand. He looked at Blair, really _looked_ at him, and wasn't sure what to do with what he saw. The kid wore all his emotions on his face – desperation, fear…longing. And was this just another Sentinel thing, another way for his senses to control him instead of the other way around? Because he could feel it too, that longing. Blair's touch helped to ground him, his voice calmed him. He'd finally found his Guide, and he wasn't sure what the hell to do about that.

"Jim…"

"I need…I don't know what the hell I need. I have to…be alone." When in doubt, get out. Jim turned and walked away, something tearing at him with every foot of space he put between himself and Blair. He didn't know it could be like that. All those girls who volunteered for the job, none of them had made him feel anything. But this man, this long-haired grad student, had filled up the empty spaces.

The Sentinel had found the Guide.

*o*o*o*

Jim walked about a half mile around the lake, and then sat down when he came to a rustic wooden bench. He'd been feeling so good just an hour ago, and now it was like everything had shattered into pieces around him; it was up to him to gather up those pieces and see if he could build something new with them.

He'd never wanted a Guide, and Dr. Walts had never really pushed for it. The pills did the job and he'd been content to leave it at that. But now he could see the value of the Guide. Blair had given him something he hadn't had in a long time – control. And that was so important to him. He couldn't help but wonder what else he could do with his senses with Blair helping him, guiding him. Would things have been different for him, if Dr. Walts hadn't been the one who found him? He was pretty sure they would have been.

Jim couldn't deny that he'd been drawn to Blair right from the start. Maybe it was a Sentinel thing, but if he didn't act on it would he be cutting off his nose to spite his face? He recalled the dream he'd had the night before. He could let his fear rule him, and walk away from the one real connection he'd had with someone, or he could suck it up and accept the changes that doing so would bring into his life. Bottom line – was Blair important enough for him to take a chance?

Yes. He was.

He got up from the bench and headed back, eager now to talk with his new friend. They had a lot they needed to figure out. And Jim couldn't resist the anticipation of being able to just be himself; no more hiding, no more fake names. Would Blair really, honestly be interested in getting to know him as a person, and not just a Sentinel? Could he…

Jim was suddenly gripped with fear. It came out of no-where and left him momentarily breathless and stunned. He looked around, but saw no reason to be so overwhelmed. Then his Sentinel brain kicked in and he realized the fear was not his.

"Blair!" he shouted. He broke into a run, dialing up hearing as he went.

_Mr. Molinari isn't too happy with you, kid._

_Wait, you don't have to…_

Blair's voice was cut off with a grunt and Jim put on speed. He could only guess that the loan shark's goons had tracked him down and were now going to take what was owed out in trade. It didn't make sense; the amount the kid owed couldn't be enough to warrant this kind of single-mindedness.

Jim was just coming into sight of the stretch of beach that bordered his campsite when he became conscious of water noises. His heart almost stopped when he took in the scene in front of him, sight automatically dialing up to bring it all into stark detail.

There were two of them, wearing Armani suits and dark sunglasses, and looking incredibly out of place here in the wilderness. They had Blair on his belly, holding his thrashing body under the water. Jim saw that they'd taken the time to remove their socks and shoes, and roll up their pants, and he was enraged. It coursed through him like an electric current.

"LET HIM UP!" he bellowed.

The two goons were startled, and released their hold on Blair, who came spluttering to the surface.

"Who the hell are you? Kid get himself a babysitter?"

Jim drew himself up to his full height. "I am the Sentinel of Cascade," he said, voice edged with steel. "And _he_ is _mine_."

The goons exchanged a wide-eyed look, and one of them started reaching for his gun. Jim picked up a large stone and winged it, hitting the guy in the hand with a loud thwack.

"Holy shit!" he squealed, holding his hand. "I think he broke my hand!"

"You okay, Blair?" Jim called.

His friend coughed and gasped, but held up one thumb.

"Don't be an idiot," the uninjured goon said to his partner. "You can't fight the Sentinel, he's got super powers and shit."

"But…Mr. Molinari wants this taken care of."

Jim advanced on the pair and whatever expression was on his face made them both pale and take a step back.

"Tell your boss to send Blair's bill to me. I'll settle it. _No-one_ is to touch him or contact him again. Period."

"I don't know," the injured goon said. "What about Frankie?"

"Who the hell is Frankie?"

"I didn't…have anything to…do with that!" Blair gasped in protest, finally having regained his feet. He circled the goons and came to stand next to Jim on the shore, his curls sodden and dripping.

"Well, Mr. Molinari thinks you did."

"I talked to the guy…one time! I have nothing…to do with him…being gay!"

Jim looked down at Blair. "What?"

"Molinari's son came out to him, _coincidentally_ after he had lunch with Mr. Sandburg here," the uninjured goon explained. Blair glared at him.

"So this isn't about the money?"

The injured goon shook his head. "Of course it's about the money. Just not _only_ about the money. Mr. Molinari isn't fond of welshers, especially fag welshers."

Before Jim was even conscious of moving, he'd waded into the lake and broken the goon's nose.

"Shit! Fuck!"

Jim turned to the other guy. "You're done here."

"You got that right." The uninjured goon helped his friend, now gushing blood, out of the lake and back to shore. "Mr. Molinari will be contacting you."

"Can't wait," Jim said icily. He trailed them back to Blair's camp, where their black Expedition was parked. "I trust I won't be seeing either of you again."

"Not if I can help it," the injured goon groaned.

"Good answer." Jim maintained his stony countenance until the Expedition was well out of sight. Then he turned it on Blair, who visibly shrunk under the intensity of his gaze.

"Uh, Jim…"

"Get out of those wet clothes."

"Don't you think we should…"

"Now."

Blair quickly disappeared into his tent, dripping all the way. Once he was out of sight Jim collapsed back against the Volvo, his heart racing. He didn't know if he should be amused at the mess the kid had gotten himself into, or terrified that he might not have been there in time to save him from being drowned. The whole thing seemed ridiculously slapstick to him, though he was aware that the threat of violence had been real. He looked down at his jeans, which were wet to about mid-calf. He ought to get changed too, but he couldn't seem to make himself move.

Jim looked up when he heard Blair coming out of his tent. He'd changed into dry clothes and was in the process of toweling off his hair. He looked incredibly young just then, and so fragile somehow with that bruise standing out starkly against his pale skin. He looked at Jim warily, not getting too close. The silence stretched out between them as Jim used his senses to ascertain that Blair was in fact fine, if not a little water logged. He could see the fine tremors running through the kid's limbs, though, and knew it was probably a combination of cold and reaction to what he'd just been through.

"We need to talk, Chief," he said softly. And then he moved forward, filling the space between them, and pulled Blair into a tight hug. The kid hugged him back just as tightly, shaking.

"Are you okay?" Jim rubbed his cheek on the damp curls, reveling in the feel of them despite the smell of lake water. Everything about this man soothed him, grounded him, made him feel…more. Despite what Incacha had said, he really didn't have a choice.

"Did you mean what you said?" Blair asked so quietly that Jim had to dial up hearing.

"Yeah. I did. Cause I'm pretty sure you're my Guide. But you're my friend, too. And I…I don't really have any friends."

Jim had a moment of panic when Blair pulled away, stepped back, but the big smile on his face quickly set him at ease.

"You want to be my friend?"

It was the right question, and Jim knew he'd made the right choice. He hugged Blair to him again, feeling complete for the first time since…ever.

"So what now?" Blair asked, his voice muffled.

"Leave that to me."

*o*o*o*

"Cindy? It's Jim. I…yes, I know I…look, I'm sorry…just…will you…"

He rolled his eyes, making Blair laugh. They were lounging around Jim's camp, watching the sun set over the lake.

"Cindy…Cindy! Listen, we're making some changes. I…yeah, well…Cindy! Jesus, will you just listen to me?"

Blair reached over, rubbing his shoulder. Jim closed his eyes and counted to ten.

"We need to move the dog and pony show to LA. Just temporarily…yes, really…no, I haven't talked to Frank…well, actually, I'm firing Frank…really? I had no idea you felt that way…no, just for a year."

Jim looked over at Blair, who nodded.

"Yeah, just a year…well, Cascade can live without me for a little while…yes…no…no, no more outside gigs, at least not right now…no…no!" He pressed the cell phone to his chest. "She wants to know if I've gotten hooked up with a woman."

Blair grinned. "How good a PR person is she?"

"The best," Jim replied sincerely.

"She'll work it out, then."

"Cindy…Cindy…no…I found my Guide. Cindy? Are you there? Oh...nope, chance meeting in the…no…_his_ name is Blair Sandburg. Cindy? No, I'm not coming home right now…no…no…well, maybe…he's a grad student at UCLA…he has to finish his doctorate…anthropology…yeah, I know…oh, and we're getting rid of Dr. Walts too…yeah, me either. Listen, we'll be in LA next week, can you come down then?" Jim nodded at whatever Cindy was saying, and shot a quick grin at Blair. "I'll call you…uh huh…of course…I think there'll be a lot more changes coming too, yeah…no, I'd never get rid of you. Actually, I was thinking of giving you a raise. Cindy? Cindy? Yeah, okay…I'll call you...alright, whatever you want. You're the best!"

Jim switched his phone off and let out a breath. Cindy had been angry, surprised, shocked into silence, and gleeful. It was a lot of emotion to deal with in one phone call.

"So?" Blair asked, still rubbing Jim's shoulder.

"She's on board. Turns out she didn't much care for my business manager, either, so she's not sad to see him go."

"Are you sure about Dr. Walts, Jim? I mean, I know he's…"

"A dick?" Jim interjected with a grin.

"Well, yeah. But he's worked with you for so long, you might need his help."

Jim twisted in his chair, to get a better look at his friend's face. "Having second thoughts?"

"No! God, no!" Blair's eyes widened. "I just…I don't have any experience with this, and I don't want to do anything that hurts you."

Jim could read the sincerity on his face, hear it in the steady beating of his heart. He reached out to ruffle the kid's hair, though it turned into more of a caress.

"Walts is the one who used me. You've done nothing but help me since I met you, Blair. I trust you."

They weren't just empty words. Jim _did_ trust his Guide. Some of it may have been due to Sentinel stuff, but he thought a lot of it had to do with Blair himself. He'd treated him like a person from the very first day, and that meant more to Jim than anything Dr. Walts had ever done for him.

"You ever been fly fishing, Chief?" Jim asked, changing the subject. There'd be plenty of time later to deal with the big issues. Right now he just wanted to enjoy the time he and Blair had left before the media circus started up again.

"Nope. I was spearfishing once, though, down in the Keys. You know, spearfishing has been around since paleolithic times, probably even earlier. It was even mentioned in the Bible, in the book of Job. See, my mother had met this guy named Earl…"

Jim just sat back as Blair got into his story, closing his eyes and listening. He thought he'd never get tired of that voice, which was a good thing because he didn't plan on ever getting tired of his Guide. His friend. For the first time in a long time he felt happy and totally at ease with himself.

He was the Sentinel of Cascade, but more importantly he was Jim Ellison.

SENTINEL FINDS GUIDE, RELOCATES TO LOS ANGELES

FRANK KAPLAN SPEAKS OUT AGAINST SENTINEL OF CASCADE

CASCADE WELCOMES BACK THEIR SENTINEL WITH PARADE

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH DR. BLAIR SANDBURG, GUIDE

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> Special thanks to Smiles2Go, who told me to go wash my dishes. I did, and this fic came together while my hands were otherwise engaged. What would I do without you? Big smoochies!_

_All the locations in this songfic are real, at least according to Google and various other websites. The only one that came out of my brain is Garrett Lake. Outdoor Outlet is a real store, but there are no locations in Oregon. I've never been to either Washington or Oregon, so all my knowledge comes to me through the magical interwebs and I apologize for any discrepancies._


	3. Secrets

**Secrets**, by OneRepublic

_I need another story  
>Something to get off my chest<br>My life gets kinda boring  
>Need something that I can confess<br>'Til all my sleeves are stained red_

_From all the truth that I've said_  
><em>Come by it honestly I swear<em>  
><em>Thought you saw me wink, no<em>  
><em>I've been on the brink, so<em>

_Tell me what you want to hear_  
><em>Something that will light those ears<em>  
><em>Sick of all the insincere<em>  
><em>So I'm gonna give all my secrets away<em>

_This time, don't need another perfect line_  
><em>Don't care if critics never jump in line<em>  
><em>I'm gonna give all my secrets away<em>

_My God, amazing how we got this far_  
><em>It's like we're chasing all those stars<em>  
><em>Who's driving shiny big black cars<em>  
><em>And everyday I see the news<em>  
><em>All the problems that we could solve<em>

_And when a situation rises_  
><em>Just write it into an album<em>  
><em>Send it straight to gold<em>  
><em>I don't really like my flow, no, so<em>

_Tell me what you want to hear_  
><em>Something that will light those ears<em>  
><em>Sick of all the insincere<em>  
><em>So I'm gonna give all my secrets away<em>

_This time, don't need another perfect line_  
><em>Don't care if critics never jump in line<em>  
><em>I'm gonna give all my secrets away<em>

_Oh, got no reason, got not shame_  
><em>Got no family I can blame<em>  
><em>Just don't let me disappear<em>  
><em>I'ma tell you everything<em>

_So tell me what you want to hear_  
><em>Something that will light those ears<em>  
><em>Sick of all the insincere<em>  
><em>So I'm gonna give all my secrets away<em>

_This time, don't need another perfect line_  
><em>Don't care if critics never jump in line<em>  
><em>I'm gonna give all my secrets away<em>

_So tell me what you want to hear_  
><em>Something that will light those ears<em>  
><em>Sick of all the insincere<em>  
><em>So I'm gonna give all my secrets away<em>

_This time, don't need another perfect line_  
><em>Don't care if critics never jump in line<em>  
><em>I'm gonna give all my secrets away<em>  
><em>All my secrets away, all my secrets away<em>

If you were to observe Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg for any length of time, you'd assume the detective kept himself tightly contained, protecting his privacy from even his closest friends. And you'd be right; he wasn't the kind of person who willingly shared his feelings. You might further assume that the police consultant was an open book, particularly since it seemed he never stopped talking. And there you'd be completely wrong.

It hadn't taken Jim long to realize that, though Blair always had a lot to say, it was rarely anything personal. As much as he tried to get his Sentinel to open up, there was still so much that he kept to himself. Jim thought maybe that would change once they'd become lovers as well as friends and partners; it hadn't. Blair was masterful at turning a conversation away from himself and back on Jim. It was frustrating.

Which is not to say that Jim didn't know anything at all. He knew facts – that Blair had gone to college when he was sixteen, that he and Naomi had traveled the world for most of his childhood, that he didn't know who his father was. What he wasn't clear on was how Blair felt about these things. Unless he was brimming over with excitement, as he had been that first day in his office at Rainier, it could be hard to pin the man down.

Things might have continued on that way indefinitely if Jim hadn't woken up one night to find that his Guide had been softly talking to him while he slept. Thanking whatever instinct that let him wake without alerting Blair, he listened.

"…not that she cared, right? When Naomi got her fill of one place, it was right off to the next. Didn't matter if I'd made friends, or finally found a place to fit in; our bags were packed and we were gone. Man, I really hated her sometimes. Which inevitably turned to guilt 'cause you're not supposed to hate your mom."

Blair sighed, going quiet, and Jim wondered how long these one-sided conversations had been going on. His heart went out to his lover, who could only reveal himself this way. He had to fight the urge to pull the younger man to him and just hold on tight.

"Some part of me still waits," Blair whispered. "Waits to find my bags packed because I don't get to stay here anymore."

The pain in his voice was palpable and Jim couldn't listen anymore. He feigned waking, muttering sleepily and reaching out. Blair came willingly, shushing him back to sleep as he cuddled up close. Jim held him tightly, wishing he could alleviate those fears.

As Jim suspected, these midnight soul-bearing sessions were a semi-regular thing. Now that he was expecting them, he found himself waking shortly after Blair started his monologue. He'd entertained the thought of coming clean, and revealing that he was listening, but he couldn't do it; couldn't give up this intimate view into his friend's heart and mind.

"I'm so scared for you sometimes. What you do is so dangerous. That's why I go with you when you don't want me to, why I can't just stay in the truck. I'd never ask you to stop being a cop, man, but if something's going to happen I'll be damned if I'll leave you to go through it alone. That's my biggest fear, you know. That you'll be injured and I won't be there, and you'll be lying in the street somewhere in pain and all alone."

There was so much fear in his voice that it cut Jim like a knife. If Blair noticed in the following weeks that his partner suddenly became less adamant about him hanging back when things got hairy, he never called him on it. Whatever his own fears were, Jim couldn't deny Blair what he needed so badly.

These conversations were a real eye-opener for Jim. His lover seemed so confident and together, but beneath the surface he was a seething mass of insecurities and fears – just like Jim. So finally he decided to take a page from Blair's book, his concern for the younger man's emotional well-being more important than any fears he himself might have.

He waited until Blair had been asleep for about an hour, and then he started talking, about nothing much – work, plans for a camping weekend. While he talked, he gently wound his fingers in his lover's curls, enjoying the soft texture of them on his calloused skin.

When he detected a change in Blair's respiration and heart rate, when he knew the younger man was no longer asleep, he said the words he'd never had the guts to say before.

"You ever notice how it's easier to talk about things – the things that matter – in the dark? I guess because you don't have to see the expressions on the other guy's face. You can get away with a lot under cover of darkness."

Jim knew Blair was trying not to give himself away, though he should've realized what a futile gesture that was when he was lying next to a Sentinel.

"I know I don't say it a lot, Blair, but I love you. So much it scares me sometimes. If anything happened to you, I'd be lost. And not just as a Sentinel, but as a man. I hate that I need you so much because being on the job with me is so dangerous. You had a nice, safe life before you met me, and I feel guilty for having taken that away from you."

He continued to stroke his lover's hair, fingers occasionally skimming down to brush across his forehead.

"If I haven't made myself clear, this thing we have, this you and me thing, is a forever kind of deal. I'm never going to grow tired of you, Blair. I didn't realize how empty I was until you came into my life. And I don't want to go back to that. Not ever."

Silent tears were slipping down Blair's face, and Jim caught them on his thumb.

"We both have a lot of baggage, Chief, but deep down I know it doesn't matter. I'll love you no matter what skeletons you think you have in your closet. Because I know you feel the same. I trust you more than anyone else…period. And you can trust me. Even if the only way you can do that is here in the dark."

"Jim," Blair said finally, his voice thick.

"Blair, I love you. As a Guide, as a man, as a friend. If the rest of the world disappeared tomorrow, it would be okay as long as we were together."

"How long?" Blair asked. "How long have you been listening."

"Long enough, Chief."

"Look, I'm sorry…"

Jim silenced him with a kiss. "Don't be sorry. Just be with me."

Blair snuggled up against him, head pillowed on his shoulder.

"Forever's a long time, Jim."

"Not long enough, Blair. Never long enough to be with you."

In the darkness they were both able to let go of some of their fears, and just be. Sentinel and Guide, Detective and Consultant, friends, lovers. And it was enough.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> Ha! I knew I could write something short! I was starting to worry there. LOL! Just something that came to me one day. I know for myself it's just easier to talk about some things under cover of darkness, and thought maybe Blair would feel the same. And even if he didn't…he does now. ::grins::_


	4. Bad Things

**Bad Things,** Jace Everett

_I wanna do bad things with you._

_When you came in the air went out._  
><em>And every shadow filled up with doubt.<em>  
><em>I don't know who you think you are,<em>  
><em>But before the night is through,<em>  
><em>I wanna do bad things with you.<em>

_I'm the kind to sit up in his room._  
><em>Heart sick an' eyes filled up with blue.<em>  
><em>I don't know what you've done to me,<em>  
><em>But I know this much is true:<em>  
><em>I wanna do bad things with you.<em>

_When you came in the air went out._  
><em>And all those shadows there filled up with doubt.<em>  
><em>I don't know who you think you are,<em>  
><em>But before the night is through,<em>  
><em>I wanna do bad things with you.<em>  
><em>I wanna do real bad things with you.<em>

_I don't know what you've done to me,_  
><em>But I know this much is true:<em>  
><em>I wanna do bad things with you.<em>  
><em>I wanna do real bad things with you.<em>

The loft was dark, night having long since fallen. Jim leaned against the railing in his bedroom, beer in one hand, waiting, dressed in only his soft cotton sleep pants. He hadn't bothered turning the lights on; with his heightened vision there was no need, particularly when he was home alone. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow, before letting it dangle from his fingers again. He tipped it lightly from side to side, feeling the liquid slosh around inside.

Blair was at a late-night study group meeting or something over at the University. Though for all Jim knew, he was really out with someone and just hadn't wanted to tell him. Things between them had been rather strained lately, and Jim took responsibility for that. It wasn't as if Blair had said anything to him, or done anything. Hell, if it weren't for the senses he'd likely not have known anything was even wrong. But something _was_ wrong and it had just taken him a while to figure it out.

No. Not wrong, he argued with himself. Just…unexpected. He'd needed time to think it through; Blair would have called it _processing_. It had made him irritable and short with his roommate, which he regretted now. But he'd needed that time, and now he knew where he stood. Now he knew what had to happen next.

It was the goddamn pheromones that finally clued him in, helped him make sense of the reason why Blair's heart spiked whenever Jim touched him or stood too close. He'd always noticed, but for whatever reasons had ignored it, catalogued it as just the normal course of things and never gave it another thought. Which was unusual in itself, because he was normally so tuned into every little fluctuation in his Guide's temperature, breathing and even his damn skin tone.

"Fuck," Jim muttered to himself. He tipped the bottle back, drained it, and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

Blair had told him about pheromones during that ridiculous episode with Laura. He'd bet the kid hadn't planned on that information backfiring on him, though, because once Jim knew what to look for he found plenty of it right under his own roof. He didn't know why it hadn't affected him the same way that Laura had, but it was getting harder to ignore. Or maybe he was just tired of pretending it wasn't there.

Jim knew the instant Blair entered the building, though he hadn't heard the car. He listened, following his progress up the stairs. The kid was clearly trying to be quiet, no doubt assuming that his roommate was sleeping. Which he should've been, because this certainly could've waited until morning.

A jingle of keys, and then the door was unlocked. Jim felt himself tensing as he caught sight of his roommate's curly head, noting with a measure of disappointment that he had it all pulled back into a ponytail. Blair hung up his coat, dumped his keys in the basket, and made his way stealthily towards his room, backpack slung over his shoulder.

"You're home late," Jim said, his voice cracking the silence like a gunshot. Blair flinched, clearly startled, and turned to look up at him. How much could he see? There was some light coming in from the windows and skylights, thanks to the full moon and the streetlights, but Jim was pretty sure he was cloaked in enough shadow to make details fuzzy. It was hard to remember what normal sight was like.

"Jeez, Jim, give a guy a heart attack!" Blair opened the door to his room and tossed his backpack in. "What're you still doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Are you having trouble with your hearing?"

Jim watched as Blair came around to the stairs, and then hesitated. The big bedroom was generally off-limits to him, the one place where Jim could get away from the clutter and craziness that existed in the Sandburg Zone. He could see now what folly that was, because there was no getting away; the kid's essence had filled every corner of the loft, whether he was in it or not.

"Trouble isn't with my senses," he said.

"Oh." Still Blair hesitated, hand on the rail and foot on the bottom step. "Anything you want to…uh…talk about?"

Jim studied his face, opened his sense of smell, and knew when concern was joined by fear. The kid probably thought he was going to get the boot. He didn't talk a lot about his past, which was fine with Jim since he didn't want to talk about his either, but Blair's ridiculously itinerant childhood had left him with insecurities about his place in the world. In Jim's world. He'd never said as much, but Jim could read between the lines. He was becoming quite adept at deciphering the mystery that was Blair Sandburg.

"Is this about why you've been acting so weird lately?" Blair asked.

"Yeah." Jim was getting annoyed with his roommate's continued immobility; he was finally ready to deal with things, but he'd be damned if he was going to do it with all this space between them.

"Oh." Blair's face went through a myriad of emotions before settling into a blank, passive expression. He was readying himself for bad news.

Jim sighed. "Get up here."

Blair slowly climbed the stairs, like a man heading for the gallows. Jim thought that was appropriate, considering that there was a very good chance their friendship was about to die a painful death. He could tell when the kid saw him, _really_ saw him, because his heart rate spiked and his skin flushed with heat. How had he ignored that for so long?

When Blair joined him at the rail, attempting and failing to look casual, Jim closed his eyes and breathed in the scent that swirled around him. The musky pheromones almost covered the oatmeal soap, herbal shampoo, and organic deodorant that was his roommate's normal scent. He could also detect a whiff of sweat and cinnamon gum. Jim knew he could delve deeper if he wanted, far enough down to detect what Blair had eaten that day, the types of places he'd been and people he'd been with, but he kept it mostly surface; he wanted the man, not the itinerary.

"Jim? I…"

"Do you think we have chemistry, Sandburg?" He opened his eyes, fighting back a smile when he saw his roommate goggling at him like he had an extra arm growing out of his head.

"I…what? _Chemistry?_ What the hell are you talking about?"

The passive look was gone, replaced by confusion and alarm. Jim thought he could see something else lurking in those blue eyes as well, something like…desire.

"I'm talking about pheromones."

Blair blinked at him. "Pheromones."

"Yeah."

"Um…okay. Well, remember I said that we all have pheromones? You're just better equipped to pick up the scent of them. Not all of them have a sexual component, either. It's just like, someone you enjoy spending time with because they give you a happy feeling. That happy feeling could be an attraction to their pheromones. I mean, you haven't jumped anyone since Laura, right?"

"No." In hindsight, Jim thought maybe his reaction to Laura was a question of safety. It was _safe_ to let the pheromones sweep him away with her, because she was just a distraction. Blair was the real deal, a forever kind of deal, and that made everything infinitely more dangerous.

"Well, see, there you go! You can look at it this way, too. You ever meet someone you pretty much hated on sight, without having a good reason? That could be nothing more than finding that person's pheromones, or body chemistry, a completely unsuitable match for your own."

Jim watched Blair, amused. His hands were gesturing now as he warmed up to his subject, though it was more nerves than anything else that kept him babbling on. The whole picture was almost perfect but something still wasn't quite right, so Jim reached over and pulled the hair elastic from Blair's ponytail, freeing all that curly hair. He pitched the elastic over the rail, not caring where it landed, and used that same hand to fluff up the curls.

Blair froze, his eyes impossibly wide. "Uh…Jim?"

"There've been a lot of pheromones in the loft lately," he said, unable to stop himself from wrapping tendrils of his roommate's hair in his fingers. "I don't think they're the let's-be-friends kind, either."

"I…uh…you know, pheromones aren't something you can control."

"Look down there." Jim pulled his hand back and gestured down at their joint living space. "What do you see?"

Blair took a slow, sliding step to the side, putting more space between himself and Jim. "Uh…furniture? It's pretty dark down there, man."

"I see you," Jim said softly. The evidence was undisputable – schoolwork on the coffee table, masks on the wall, his coat hanging on a hook by the door. In the cabinets were several varieties of tea and spices Jim had never heard of. In the bathroom were all of Blair's toiletries, his flannel bathrobe, his hair in the drain. There was no space that he hadn't infiltrated.

"Everywhere I look I see you, smell you, _feel_ you. We live together, work together, play together, eat together. I've met your mother, you've met my father and Stephen." Jim turned to look at Blair, trying to get him to understand. "There's only one thing left we haven't done, one room that you haven't spread yourself out in. So to speak."

"Whoa, hey!" Blair held up his hands. "Jim, this is the pheromones talking, okay?"

"No. It isn't." Jim finally moved away from the rail, setting the empty beer bottle on the desk. Then he advanced on his roommate, moving him backward with steady deliberation until Blair was forced to sit on the bed.

"Jim, you're not thinking straight."

"I know that, Sandburg," he replied with a smirk. "And you know, I think I'm okay with it."

Blair blanched; his face was already washed out by the moonlight, and now he seemed almost to be made of porcelain. "Yeah, ha. Funny. Really, Jim, you need to think about what you're saying. This…this isn't you."

Jim knelt on the floor, almost touching Blair's knees but keeping his hands to himself for the time being. "When you come into a room, all I see is you. It's like everything else just bleeds away, and the only thing that's real is your smile, your scent, the sound of your heartbeat. All the air goes out and I can hardly breathe."

Blair was trembling, his expression full of desperation and longing. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Jim reached out and took hold of his hand, using his thumb to rub little circles in Blair's palm.

"I felt that way for a long time, before the pheromones. All they did was tell me that you were feeling the same. You want me, as much as I want you."

"But…but…"

"I don't know when it happened, but you took me over a long time ago." Jim tugged at Blair's hand, pulling it to his chest to cover his heart. "You already have this; don't you want the rest of me too?"

"God, Jim. I don't know what to say to that. What do I _say_ to that?"

"You don't say anything." Jim wrapped his free hand around the back of Blair's neck and pulled him forward until he was in kissing distance. "You just feel it."

He moved that last little bit, capturing Blair's lips with his own, swallowing his shallow breaths, drinking him in. A fire started to smolder under his skin when Blair kissed him back, and he could feel the rapid pulse of blood moving through the veins in the other man's wrist. It was everything he'd wanted and nothing like he'd expected, and his mind began feeding him images of how much more there could be.

Too soon, Jim felt Blair pulling away; he let him have his few inches of space, enjoying the view. His roommate's lips were red and slightly swollen, his eyes glazed. No longer pale, a rosy flush rode high on his cheekbones.

"Jim…_Jesus_." He tried to pull his hand back, but Jim held it tight to his chest. He wanted Blair to feel the pounding of his heart, and he craved the warmth of those splayed fingers on his bare chest.

"I don't have any more doubts," Jim murmured. "Everything I am, is yours. But it's still your choice."

They regarded each other for a long moment. Jim knew this might be the end of everything between them, if Blair said no. Still, he couldn't regret having opened himself up this way. To keep going on as they had been, pretending and ignoring, would have been stupid. The truth was always better than the lie, no matter how much it hurt.

"I never expected this," Blair said finally.

"I know. Me either."

"But I want it. I want _you_, so much."

Jim could read the truth in his eyes, and in the soft smile that was now spreading across his face. He finally released Blair's hand, freeing his own up as well so that he could bury it in that curly hair; his fingers cupped Blair's head.

"No doubts?"

"Nothing that springs to mind," Blair said breathlessly. He moved backward on the bed, pulling Jim along with him. They kissed again, and this time Jim went from smolder to burn almost instantly. The first kiss had been sweet, questing. This one was heat and need and claiming. _Mine_, he said with every thrust of his tongue. _Mine_, Blair said with every stroke of his hands over Jim's back.

This time it was Jim who pulled away, gazing down at his roommate – _lover_, he amended – with no small amount of adoration. Blair had filled up his life as he had filled up the loft, leaving nothing untouched. He'd never felt so complete, so utterly satisfied.

"Will you sleep here with me?"

"Sleep?" Blair asked, eyebrows rising.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Chief," Jim chuckled. "There's plenty of things I want to do with you, _to_ you. _God_. But tonight…tonight let's just have this. Please?"

Blair ran his fingertips over Jim's face, tracing his bone structure; his touch was feather light and sent a shiver down Jim's spine.

"Okay, big guy. I'd like that too." He pressed a kiss to the side of Jim's neck. "But tomorrow…I want to do some bad things with you."

"Bad things?"

"Bad, sweaty, sexy things," Blair said, his voice dropping almost an octave with his desire.

"Oh, yeah. Lots and lots of bad things," Jim readily agreed.

Then they were back to kissing, learning the taste and shape of each other's mouths. Filling each other with warmth and promises and love. And when they finally fell asleep, they did so wrapped up in each other, limbs as entwined as their lives had become.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> This fic is the direct result of the angsty-smutty fics I've been reading lately (Francesca over at 852 Prospect – she's good!). You can tell this is a fantasy, because Jim isn't nearly that suave on the show. LOL! Anyway, if you liked it drop me a line and let me know! I love hearing from you!_


	5. My Hero

**My Hero**, by Foo Fighters

_Too alarming now to talk about.  
>Take those pictures down and shake it out.<br>Truth or consequence, say it aloud.  
>Use that evidence, race it around.<em>

_There goes my hero,_  
><em>Watch him as he goes.<em>  
><em>There goes my hero,<em>  
><em>He's ordinary!<em>

_Don't the best of them bleed it out,_  
><em>While the rest of them peter out?<em>  
><em>Truth or consequence, say it aloud.<em>  
><em>Use that evidence, race it around.<em>

_There goes my hero,_  
><em>Watch him as he goes.<em>  
><em>There goes my hero,<em>  
><em>He's ordinary!<em>

_Kudos my hero,_  
><em>Leaving all the mess.<em>  
><em>You know my hero,<em>  
><em>The one that's on.<em>

_There goes my hero,_  
><em>Watch him as he goes.<em>  
><em>There goes my hero,<em>  
><em>He's ordinary!<em>

It all went bad, just as Jim had feared it would. He'd practically begged Simon and threatened Blair, but in the end he had absolutely no say in the matter. As if that was anything new. His high case closure rate filled the brass with certain expectations; failure was not even considered, which was completely unfair. Off the job he had to deal with his roommate, who had such a big list of things Jim couldn't eat, wear, touch or listen to that he'd purchased a binder to contain it all. The anger would come later, he knew. Right now all he could do was watch from the sidelines as it all went down.

*o*o*o*

"Ellison! Sandburg! My office!"

The detective and observer in question quickly got to their feet and walked across the bullpen to Simon's office. Blair looked eager and curious, not at all put off by the Captain's bellow. Jim couldn't help smirking at that. The kid had never been intimidated, much to Simon's dismay.

"Take a seat, gentleman."

Jim and Blair did so, waiting expectantly while Simon leaned back against his desk.

"This is really just for you, Sandburg, but I knew Jim would listen in anyway." He turned a frown on his lead detective.

"What's this about, Simon?" Blair asked, and Jim could detect the faintest thread of nerves in his voice. Even after a year riding along, he was still worried about having his observer status taken away.

"I had a meeting with Captain Roberts in Vice. They're putting together a sting and they've asked for your help."

Jim started shaking his head, and Simon held up one hand to forestall him. "Don't start. They asked for our help and we're going to give it to them. If Sandburg agrees, of course."

"Why do they want _me?_"

"Vice has been working on cracking a drug ring for several months now, but they can't get anyone inside. The operation is headquartered out of Rainier, and word on the street is they're looking to expand." Simon folded his arms across his chest. "As a member of the community there, you're already inside. And let's just say you fit a certain physical profile that benefits this undercover mission."

Blair grinned, but Jim couldn't work up any humor about this. Sure, it was funny when people assumed his partner worked Vice because of the hair and the earrings and the grungy way he sometimes dressed. But to actually put him in the middle of a sting?

"Sandburg is a civilian, sir," Jim reminded Simon. "He's not authorized for this kind of work."

"Jim…" Blair started to say, before he was cut off by the Captain.

"Do you want me to list all the situations you've put Sandburg in that he had no business being a part of?"

Jim was out of his seat now, anger burning up his neck. "Don't turn this around on me, Simon!"

"You're here as a courtesy, _Detective_." Simon drew himself up to his full height, his expression thunderous. "Sandburg is not a cop, not your partner in any official capacity, and you better damn well remember who you're talking to."

"Uh, guys?" Blair moved between the two of them, holding his hands up. "I'm sure women enjoy this sort of thing, but I'd rather you didn't fight over me."

"You're not doing it," Jim said stubbornly. He wasn't interested in sharing his partner with anyone else, particularly anyone in Vice. He knew how they ran things in that department and he didn't want them getting their grubby hands on Blair.

"Put your dick away, man," Blair said. Simon choked. "I'm not your territory, so you can stop pissing on me."

"This isn't a joke, Sandburg," Jim growled.

"No, I know it's not. What it is, is my choice. And I want to help. I don't want some drug lords working out of Rainier, and if I can do something to stop that I want to."

"It's too dangerous," Jim insisted. Why was no-one listening to him?

"Didn't bother you when you set me up with Maya," Blair said softly.

"Fine. Do what you want." It sounded petulant, but he couldn't help it. He slammed out of Simon's office and made a beeline for the elevator. He needed to work off some of the aggression that was coursing through him, and figured some time spent punching something down in the gym would be a good way to deal with that. He stalked through the bullpen, pointedly ignoring everyone's wide stares, and poked angrily at the elevator button.

Was he going to be punished forever for Maya? It had been a mistake, one that could have cost Blair his life and had already cost him his heart. That case had changed his partner in some small, but vital way; made him just a little bit less than he was, somehow. He didn't want anymore changes; he liked Blair the way he was.

Vibrating with a heady mix of anger and anxiety, Jim gave up on the elevator and instead took the stairs. He knew a punching bag that was about to get the workout of its life.

*o*o*o*

Jim had resolved to let Blair and Simon handle things, wanting nothing to do with Vice or their operation. But of course he couldn't do it. He grilled Blair for the details of the case, gave him tips for his behavior when dealing with the suspected drug dealers, and helped wire him up every morning before he left for school. Vice kept eyes and ears on Blair all day, but so did Jim; he wasn't about to leave the safety of his partner to just anyone, even if that anyone included seasoned cops.

On the rare moments he could look at the situation with a cop's eyes, he could see the value in having Blair on the sting. He was a well-known sight on campus and would arouse less suspicion than someone new. Probably a lot of people already thought he did drugs, so it was easy to play into that assumption and make some contacts. Jim had made sure that Vice ran everything through Chancellor Edwards, not wanting Blair's involvement to come back and bite him on the ass.

The Vice cops had begrudgingly admitted that they needed Blair, but they were downright hostile with Jim. He knew they didn't want Major Crimes getting all up in their operation, and he couldn't blame them. The fact that Blair had a lot of people watching his back led to a lot of posturing between the two departments; Simon was fielding a lot of phone calls from Captain Roberts.

Three weeks later, the big sting was finally going down. Blair had played his part perfectly – a professor with contacts out in the wider world of Cascade that would help the foundering college drug trade expand – and now Vice had a chance to grab all the dealers and their stash. Jim was on edge all day, unable to focus on any of his own work. The deal was going down at five o'clock, at a warehouse out by the docks. He thought that if they could only raze all those empty warehouses, the crime rate in Cascade would decline by more than half.

"Just do your part and then get out of there," Jim said. He wired Blair for sound in the PD locker room. "No stupid chances, okay?"

"Hey, you're talking to the original coward of the county here, man," Blair said with a nervous grin. "I'm no hero."

*o*o*o*

The deal had gone smoothly. Blair was shown both the stash and the lab. Jim waited anxiously behind the scenes. Once his partner was clear, Vice would move in to make the arrests. And then something happened – someone got too nervous, or moved too soon. The dealers pulled guns, the cops pulled guns, and everything went to hell.

"Sandburg! Down!" Jim shouted, reaching for his own weapon. Blair dropped, his hands over his head, as gunfire was exchanged. He was right near a stack of crates, which would have provided some cover for him. He had in fact started moving toward them in a crouching crawl. But while the cops and the dealers were trying to best each other at marksmanship, Jim saw what they did not – a civilian had somehow wandered right into the crossfire. He opened his mouth to tell them to cease firing, but before he could Blair was on his feet; he'd seen the girl too.

Time seemed to slow down for Jim, every detail standing out starkly. He could almost trace the lines the bullets made as they moved through the air. He fired his gun, trying to provide his partner cover. And watched as Blair ran, feet flying across the cracked pavement, heedless of anything but protecting that girl. Jim knew then that Blair had lied; he was the most heroic person Jim knew.

_Jim watched from the truck as Blair approached Mrs. Lacroix's apartment. The gangbangers were loitering around the entrance, keeping people away, but Blair walked right up to them. There was no fear on his face, and only a slight rise in his heart rate. Even as the gangbangers taunted him and pushed him around, he held his ground. And all this for a woman he'd never met, because he hated to see anyone being victimized. _

Jim dialed up sight and took one of the dealers in the shoulder, dropping him. Blair was close now, almost to the girl. Her mouth was open, but no sound came out even though she was clearly terrified.

_Blair could've bailed at any time during the Brackett case, but he stuck to Jim like glue. He walked his Sentinel through every step of Brackett's plan to steal the experimental aircraft, keeping him focused. At the end, when it came time to disarm the bomb, he could've gotten to cover and protected himself. Instead, he stayed at Jim's side, trusting him to make sure things worked out. Despite his fear – it was so strong Jim could smell it – he never faltered._

Blair finally reached the girl, throwing her to the ground and covering her with his body. Jim scented blood, but with so many bullets flying around he couldn't tell if his partner had been hit. Breaking cover, he ran towards him, firing at the remaining dealers as he went.

_Instead of taking cover and getting his butt off the street as instructed, Blair used his improvisation skills to take out two of the shooters with a fire hose. As usual, he placed the safety of complete strangers above his own. But he would go above and beyond on this case, risking his heart as well as his life. In hindsight Jim could see that it was a mistake, involving Blair with Maya. Of course the kid was going to get too invested. He's thinking with his heart instead of his head, and in the end he's taken down by Maya's words and his inability to refute them._

As Jim ran he barely noticed when the shooting stopped; his focus was on the two people lying on the ground ahead of him. He could pick out Blair's heartbeat, but it was erratic and fast and he knew something was wrong. The scent of blood was stronger now and he could taste it in the back of his mouth.

_Jim knew what he was getting into, knew what it meant to go looking for Simon and Daryl in the middle of the jungle. He'd been there before. Blair insisted on tagging along, worried about his friends. Jim didn't want to bring him, didn't want another person to be responsible for out there. He thought he'd won that argument when the pilot refused to set the plane down; Blair had a fear of heights, so it was a no-brainer that he'd just go back with Sandoval and wait it out. Wrong again. Once more, his own safety was shoved aside and Blair made the parachute jump, nearly breaking his neck in the process. All for his friends._

The girl was sobbing but unharmed. Jim moved Blair very carefully, calling for the EMTs that had been standing by. A bullet had grazed Blair's hip, and another had punched through his chest. Jim applied pressure to the wound, talking soothingly to his partner even though he was unconscious. When the EMTs got Blair loaded up in the ambulance, he insisted on riding with them to the hospital. They were almost to the emergency room before Jim's control cracked and his hands started to shake.

*o*o*o*

"Jim?"

"Hey, Chief." He leaned forward in his chair, holding Blair's hand in his own. "How you feeling?"

"Like I…got hit by a truck." Blair's voice was thick and sluggish, but thankfully not filled with much pain; the drugs were working. "The girl?"

"You got to her in time."

Blair closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief. "Good."

"You know, I really wish you'd leave these heroics to the professionals," Jim said. The tone was joking but he was serious; Blair was not a cop, and he was not a Sentinel, but he continually acted as if he were both. This was just the latest example of the lengths he would go to help someone, even if that someone was a complete stranger. Jim acknowledged, only to himself, that it was one of the reasons he didn't mind Blair riding along with him. He knew he could count on him if there was trouble. It was also the thing that terrified him the most.

"Next time," Blair promised sleepily.

Jim wished he could extract a promise that there wouldn't be a next time, but he knew that would be futile. Blair could no longer sit back and watch someone get hurt than Jim could. They were protectors, both of them, just in different ways. And maybe that was how it was supposed to be; if the Guide didn't feel as strongly about the tribe as the Sentinel, would he still be as motivated to help?

"You're a big hero, Sandburg," Jim said. "Vice loves you, and you'll probably get a commendation or something."

"Ummm…nobody's…hero," Blair muttered before falling back asleep. Jim continued to hold his hand, a soft smile touching his face.

"You're my hero," he whispered.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> Heard this song, loved this song, knew it would be a good Blair song. I kind of had a general idea about what I wanted to do, particularly with the season one flashbacks. Smiles2go suggested the "Blair loaned out to vice" angle, and it fit in here just so well. Like the lyrics say, he's just an ordinary guy but he's always going above and beyond to help friends and strangers alike. Blair is my hero too!_


	6. You Belong To Me

**You Belong To Me**, by Jason Wade

_See the pyramids along the Nile  
>Watch the sunrise from a tropic isle<br>Just remember darlin' all the while,  
>You belong to me.<em>

_See the market place in old Algiers_  
><em>Send me photographs and souvenirs,<em>  
><em>Just remember when a dream appears,<em>  
><em>You belong to me.<em>

_And I'll be so alone without you,_  
><em>Maybe you'll be lonesome too.<em>

_Fly the ocean in a silver plane,_  
><em>See the jungle when it's wet with rain.<em>  
><em>Just remember till you're home again<em>  
><em>You belong to me.<em>

_Oh I'll be so alone without you,_  
><em>Maybe you'll be lonesome too.<em>

_Fly the ocean in a silver plane,_  
><em>See the jungle when it's wet with rain.<em>  
><em>Just remember till you're home again<em>  
><em>You belong to me.<em>

Blair hadn't wanted Jim to come to the airport to see him off, because there was just too much noise there for his sensitive ears. But of course Jim had insisted on driving him, and seeing him to the security checkpoint. Not to mention carrying his duffel bag.

Jim clapped him on the shoulder. "Have a safe trip, Sandburg."

"It'll just be a few weeks. You've got the binder, right?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "I'll be fine."

Blair certainly hoped so. He and Jim had never spent this much time apart, and he'd been worried that something might go wrong with his Sentinel's senses while he was gone. He'd put together a binder full of things Jim should be on the lookout for – common household products that could aggravate his senses, medicines he should stay away from, foods to watch out for.

"If there's an emergency, call the local police. I left their number on the fridge. They'll be able to get word to us out in the village. The research station has a satellite phone, so as soon as I get the number…"

"We've gone over this a hundred times, Chief." Jim shook his head, but didn't seem especially aggravated. "I'll manage till you get back."

Blair didn't know if the choice of words was intentional, but he was glad that Jim hadn't said he could get along fine on his own. Which he probably could, but the Guide couldn't help worrying. Neither, it seemed, could the Sentinel.

"Remember what I told you," Jim said. "Stay with your group, no going out alone. Costa Rica can be dangerous."

"I promise," Blair replied. "No derring-do or heroic gestures. I'm there to observe."

Jim chuckled. "Derring-do?"

They grinned at each other for a minute, and then Blair retrieved his duffel bag and hoisted his backpack higher up on his shoulder. It was time to get going.

"When I get near a phone, I'll give you a call. Okay, big guy?"

"Stay safe." There was no joking tone in Jim's voice this time, and so Blair nodded solemnly. He got through security without any problems, and when he was on the other side he raised his hand in farewell. Jim waved back, and then turned and walked away.

*o*o*o*

Blair had the middle seat on the plane, between a man with a thick handlebar moustache that was reading a book about Old West outlaws and a pretty young woman with incredibly pungent body odor. Once the plane was in the air he turned on his MP3 player and tried to breathe shallow.

He was excited to be joining an anthropological group that would be studying the Bribri people for a month, but he also felt surprisingly uneasy about leaving Cascade. Not that he had a choice. When the offer had come through, Jim had staunchly insisted he take it. Apparently the loss of the Borneo expedition had been weighing heavily on him and he refused to let Blair miss another opportunity on his behalf.

_You have a life, too, Sandburg. It can't all be about me._

Blair wondered if maybe part of Jim's determination that he go to Costa Rica was just to be alone. He couldn't deny that they spent inordinate amounts of time together, just like he couldn't deny that part of him really needed that. He'd never had someone as rock-steady as Jim in his life nor had he ever felt so drawn to another person. So Jim was probably right; they needed this time apart.

With a sigh, he reached under the seat in front of him and pulled out his backpack. May as well do some reading, get more familiarized with the Bribri. He was particularly interested in the important role played by the Awa, or Shaman. Book retrieved, he used his foot to stuff the bag back where it had come from. He looked for his turned over page corner and frowned. There was an actual bookmark marking his page and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had one that wasn't a random receipt or a corner ripped off a random piece of paper.

This bookmark had a black panther on it, stretched out on a tree limb.

Jim had bought him a bookmark? Blair turned it over to see if there was a note; nothing. He felt absurdly touched that his friend had picked this up just for him, sneaking it into the book so he'd have a surprise. When the man wasn't being a hard-headed pain in the ass, he could be very sensitive. Had he wanted Blair to have a reminder of him? It was a silly thought, but he couldn't help smiling. He settled in with his book, Foo Fighters clanging loudly in his ears, and soon forgot about everything else. The bookmark lay on his thigh, held in place by one hand, and he absently stroked it with his thumb while he read.

*o*o*o*

Limón Province was unseasonably hot and humid, and Blair started thinking seriously about shaving his head. Clearly he'd spent too much time living in Cascade; the heat had never bothered him this much in the past. All he wanted was to get out of the Jeep and into whatever place he'd be staying for the next few weeks so he could change into lighter clothes.

"We're definitely hitting the beach while we're here," Miles said. He was a med student from the University of California San Francisco and looked like a stereotypical surfer with his shaggy bleached-blonde hair and deep tan, though he didn't seem any more comfortable with the heat.

"So what's your deal, dude?" Miles asked. "You just sit and study these guys?"

Blair grinned good-naturedly. He was sure Miles thought administering medical care was much more important, and maybe it was, but he didn't for a moment doubt the value of the contributions made by his own field of study.

"I guess if you break it down to the simplest terms, then yeah. I'll be observing, for the most part. Particularly the role of the shaman in modern society, and how it ties into the shared past of the Bribri. It's fascinating to see how rituals and traditions change through time, and with increased exposure to outside influences."

"Okay," Miles said with a shrug. "Whatever floats your boat, dude."

God, this kid made him feel old. And there were probably only a couple years age difference between them. They rode the rest of the way in silence, Blair using the time to take in the scenery around them. It wasn't just for aesthetics, either; the area that a group chose to settle in was just as important as the settlers themselves. It defined their eating habits, hunting rituals, and all aspects of their daily life.

It was another twenty minutes before they arrived at the Meyerhoff-Ross Research Station, which had been established two miles from the actual Bribri community. Miles and Blair parted ways, though they'd still be seeing each other for shared meals and things, and Blair went to meet Dr. Elva Malone, who was heading up the anthropological group.

"Ah, Blair Sandburg!" Dr. Malone was tall and willowy, brown hair cropped short, and wore khaki pants and a white t-shirt. She grabbed one of Blair's hands in her own and shook it heartily. "Dr. Stoddard's protégé."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Malone. I've read all your books."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she laughed. "Please, call me Elva. We're not very formal out here."

"Of course."

"Let me show you where you'll be sleeping."

Elva led Blair along a dirt path, past the two-story main building and towards a cluster of small bungalows.

"Our research groups are kept very small, so you'll be able to have your own sleeping quarters. In addition to you, we have a Cultural Anthropologist from Northern Arizona University and a Linguistic Anthropologist from Florida International University. You'll meet them at dinner tonight."

"I can't thank you enough for giving me this opportunity," Blair said as they stopped in front of one of the bungalows.

Elva smiled. "You earned this opportunity, Blair. I'm not unfamiliar with your work, either. Now, if you have any questions I'll be in the main building. Room 9."

Blair nodded and entered the place he'd be calling home for the next month. It wasn't much larger than his room at the loft, though it had the benefit of windows on all sides. There was a small round table with one chair, a rickety-looking rattan loveseat, and a twin bed that actually looked fairly comfortable. Overhead a fan turned lazily, barely moving the air. He threw his duffel bag on the bed, which had mosquito netting ready to be pulled across it, and shrugged out of the backpack.

"Home sweet home," Blair muttered to himself. More than ready for that change of clothes now, he unzipped his bag and received his second surprise of the day.

All of his things were neatly folded inside, even his boxer shorts. It certainly bore no resemblance to the haphazard pile of clothes that Blair had tossed in when he'd packed. When the hell had Jim found time to repack without him noticing? Lying on top of his things was a note, folded just as neatly as his shirts.

_Didn't anyone ever teach you to pack, Sandburg? I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I just wanted to remind you to be careful. Stay with the group, and watch what you eat. Especially watch what you drink. Stick to bottled water whenever you can. Call when you get a chance._

Blair laughed and sat on the bed. Only Jim could mother-hen him long-distance without even needing to use the phone. Man, he was really going to miss him.

*o*o*o*

It was early morning and Blair shuffled back to his bungalow from the unisex bathroom just across the way. Despite being so tired from all the traveling he'd done the day before he hadn't slept well; strange noises, strange bed. He was amused to realize that, for the first time in his life, he was a little homesick. An unforeseen side effect of having an actual home, he supposed.

The research station was hosting volunteers and students from various fields of study, and Blair had met most of them at dinner the night before. A pretty good group, though the medicals tended to be a bit arrogant. Quite a few people were here to study the annual raptor migration, which Blair hoped to see as well, just because it sounded so damn cool.

Blair pulled his hair into a ponytail, then twisted it into a knot to keep it completely off his neck. Not for the first time he thought about cutting it short, but admitted that he was just vain enough about those curly locks that it would probably never happen. He dipped into his duffel, pulling out the uniform of the day – khaki shorts, blue Jags t-shirt, brown cotton socks, and his sun hat with the mesh vents and wide brim.

"What the hell?" He'd started putting his socks on, but there was something stuffed down in the toe of one of them. He reached in and pulled out another folded piece of paper.

_Take a spare pair of socks with you, Sandburg. Wet socks will give you blisters, and can be a breeding ground for fungus. Not to mention they'll suck out your body heat, although I can only hope you're finally warm enough now._

Blair wasn't sure if he should be amused or offended. It wasn't like this was his first time out on an expedition, or his first time out in the jungle. He knew the protocol. In the end, he just shook his head and tucked it into one of the side pockets of the duffel; it joined the other note Jim had left him.

While he finished getting ready for his first trip to the Bribri village, Blair couldn't help wondering how his Sentinel was doing. Was he enjoying having the loft to himself again, without needing to deal with aboriginal music and Blair's clutter? The yearning for home grew stronger and he pushed it away. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed for the main building and the cafeteria. He hoped they had tea.

*o*o*o*

It was nearly dark when Blair and the other anthropologists returned to the research station. Elva had introduced them around the village, and most of the day was spent getting a feel for the set up and for the people. The community was organized in a series of family clans, and Blair found it fascinating that the clan system itself was matriarchal. The Bribri were very friendly and it wasn't long before Blair had an entourage of young children following him around.

The big surprise had been the Shaman, or Awa, actively seeking him out just before it had been time to leave for the day. He was an older man, possibly in his late sixties, but Blair had been able to sense power in him. Which had been totally freaky. He'd also been introduced to the Awa's apprentice, who was a family member of some kind.

He was going to have to brush up on his Spanish, since he knew nothing of the Bribri language. Most of them seemed to be bilingual, which was helpful, but they had very little English. The Awa had invited him to visit when he returned the next day and Blair could hardly wait. Ever since he'd learned that Incacha was the Shaman for the Chopec, he'd been driven to learn more of what that honorable position entailed. He couldn't help but feel that it would give him more of an edge when dealing with all the Sentinel stuff. As if he did anything that wasn't somehow a benefit for Jim, a way to make Jim's life a little easier.

Blair headed for the showers. They were each allowed only one per day in an effort to conserve water and he'd decided to save his for the evenings so he could wash off the sweat and grime of the day. He normally enjoyed languishing in a nice, steamy shower, but while he was here they had to be quick and fairly tepid. Still, a shower was a shower, and as long as he got clean he was satisfied.

Fifteen minutes and a generous dollop of leave-in conditioner later, he made his way to the cafeteria for dinner. Tonight they were serving a spicy rice and bean dish with some sort of grilled meat on the side. He heaped up a plateful, grabbed a cold bottled water, and made for the nearest empty chair, which happened to be next to Miles.

"Hey, dude," the med student said in greeting. "How was your first day people-watching?"

"Pretty good. You cure the common cold yet?"

"Working on it," Miles said with a grin.

Blair took a tentative bite of the meat, found it surprisingly sweet, and soon tucked into the rest. The room was filled with the pleasant low-level hum of conversation and the clinking of silverware. He was halfway through his meal when Miles turned from his conversation with the woman who sat across the table from him.

"Bunch of us are going to the beach this weekend, dude. Wanna come?"

"Oh. Uh, I'll have to check with Dr. Malone. Not sure about the schedule yet."

"No prob. We'll be heading out around ten."

"Thanks," Blair replied sincerely. "I'd really love to go."

"Yeah, I hear the beaches here are pretty frosty. Gotta see what kind of beer we can get." With that final pronouncement Miles picked back up with his previous conversational companion.

Blair finished his dinner and dropped his plate off at the kitchen window. He grabbed another water to bring back to his bungalow. When he got there he pulled out his journal, reviewing the notes he'd made that day and adding bits of clarification here and there. It occurred to him that he should've gone out and picked up a new journal for this trip, and he flipped through it to see how many blank pages he had left. That's how he found another note, tucked in between two pages, snug against the spine so it wouldn't just fall out.

_Make sure you wear your glasses when you're reading. You know you'll get headaches otherwise, and you didn't pack much aspirin. Is there good lighting in your room? You don't want to strain your eyes._

Blair held the note in his hand, eyes narrowed in contemplation. Why had Jim gone through the trouble of hiding all these notes in his things? Was he being thoughtful, or condescending? Blair decided to go with thoughtful, because he liked the warm feeling that gave him. It was nice to think that even here, surrounded by strangers, there was someone who cared enough to worry about him.

*o*o*o*

In the wilds of Costa Rica or at home in Cascade, Blair hated early mornings; the location didn't make a lick of difference. He shuffled blearily to the bathroom and then blearily back to his bungalow to dress for the day. He tried to be quick, all of his focus on getting to the cafeteria and having a nice hot cup of tea.

Once dressed, he started down the path to the main building, already feeling the humidity of the day pressing against his skin. He reached in his pocket to see if he had a hair elastic, but his fingers instead found a now-familiar folded slip of paper.

_I hope you're using sunblock and insect repellent, Chief. Bugs down there can be monsters. I know you had all your shots, but you can't be too careful. If you get any rashes or bites that seem worse than normal, make sure you see the local witchdoctor, or whoever passes for medical personnel down there. Don't take any chances with your health, okay?_

For some reason, this latest nagging missive made Blair's chest tight. He shoved the note back in his pocket and hurried on his way, trying not to think that it was only his third day here and already he wanted to go home.

*o*o*o*

By the time the weekend rolled around, Blair was more than ready to hit the beach with his fellow explorers. Miles had managed to appropriate a couple of Jeeps and they all piled in, ready to have a day just for themselves. Blair made small talk with Fred, the linguist, and Marla, a dental student, during the long drive out of the mountains and down to the shore.

When they got to the beach, though, Blair wanted to just have some time to himself. The others divided themselves between swimming and frisbee, but he laid out on his towel and dutifully smeared on some sunblock. It was much cooler here by the water and it was a relief to get out of the oppressive humidity for a while.

He'd spent most of the week in the Bribri village with the Awa. Limping along in Spanish, with some help from the assistant who spoke a little English, they were able to communicate with each other. The old shaman had said he recognized a like mind in the young anthropologist and was eager to hear about his experiences as a shaman in the outside world. Blair kept denying that he was anything but a student; the Awa would have none of it.

"I feel it here," he'd said, putting his hand flat on Blair's chest. "There is strength, and power. You have great purpose."

Blair wanted to talk to the Awa about Sentinels, see if the Bribri had any lore on the subject. He'd have to ask Jim about it first, though. He was very careful about keeping his friend's secret, even out here in the jungle.

On a whim, he pulled out his cell phone and switched it on, surprised when two bars showed up. Of course, there was a larger population here on the coast, so it only stood to reason there would be cell service. He hit speed dial, not even considering what time it must be in Cascade. Blair was unaccountably nervous as the phone rang, but when Jim answered he could feel a goofy smile spreading across his face.

"Hey, big guy!"

"Sandburg. You made it on one piece? No natural disasters or plane malfunctions?"

"Very funny."

"You at the beach?" Jim asked curiously. Blair grinned, knowing he could hear the waves through the phone.

"Yeah. A bunch of us drove down today. It's really beautiful here, man. And I never thought I'd say this, but it's frickin' hot, too."

Jim laughed. "Well, that's a nice change of pace, Chief. How's everything going?"

"Pretty good. The Bribri are really great, they've welcomed me with open arms. I've been spending a lot of time with their Shaman. He's amazing, Jim! I'd…uh…"

"What?"

"I'd like to open up a dialogue with him, about Sentinels."

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and Blair wondered what Jim was thinking. Was he annoyed? Or just thinking things over? He'd resigned himself to a no when Jim finally answered.

"That's a good idea, Chief."

"Really?" Blair asked, stunned.

"Sure. I guess if you can't trust a shaman with this stuff who can you trust?"

"Wow! Thanks, man! I really appreciate this!"

"So how's the food down there?" Jim asked, changing the subject.

They talked for another twenty minutes, about Costa Rica and Jim's latest cases. The notes never came up in conversation, though Blair had wanted to ask about them. He promised to call again when he could, and made Jim promise not to take any risks at work, which was a ridiculous thing to ask and an even more ridiculous thing for him to agree to.

By the time Blair ended the call he was feeling a whole lot better, and decided to join in the frisbee game after all.

*o*o*o*

Two weeks later Blair was on a plane headed home. He technically had one week left in Costa Rica, but had claimed a family emergency. On his last day in the Bribri village he'd had a long talk with the Awa, who agreed that he should return to his Sentinel and deal with the revelation he'd had. He hadn't told Jim he was coming home early.

Blair pulled his journal out, opening it to the middle where he'd stashed all of Jim's notes. There were ten of them, all reminders to take care of himself. There was a larger message there, too, but it had taken him a while to work it out. Once he had, Blair had been almost giddy. Jim had been right in insisting he take this trip; time apart was just what he needed to take an objective look at his life and see things that would've been obvious if he hadn't been so close to it.

The flight back to Cascade seemed to take much longer than the flight to Costa Rica, although that was probably due to nerves. He hurried through Customs and made his way outside, catching a cab back to the loft. It was mid-afternoon, and Blair figured he had some time to get settled before Jim came home from work.

"Home," he whispered to himself when the cab pulled up in front of 852 Prospect Street. There was no denying that this was home now. After a lifetime living out of a backpack, it was a good feeling. He paid the cab driver and carried his bags up three flights of stairs, not bothering with the elevator.

When he came through the front door, Blair took a deep breath. The air in the loft was a mixture of Blair scents and Jim scents, and it was achingly familiar. He tossed his bags in his room, then treated himself to a long, hot shower. Afterwards, he poked around in the fridge looking for something to eat, and decided to fix a quick stir fry. Even if Jim had other plans for after work, they could eat the leftovers tomorrow.

It was after seven when Jim finally got home. Blair was out on the balcony, drinking a beer and fighting the nerves that twisted in his stomach. He'd been watching the clock for the last three hours, wishing for Sentinel hearing so he'd know when Jim was getting close.

"Sandburg? What the hell are you doing home so early?" Jim tossed his keys in the basket beside the door and made a beeline for the balcony. "Is everything okay?"

"It's nice to see you too," Blair said with a grin.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I'd have picked you up."

"I wanted to surprise you." Blair studied his friend's face, feeling like it had been ages since he'd seen him. Of course, now he was seeing him in a slightly different light and every familiar feature took on a new kind of glow.

"Oh. Well, you did."

Blair put his hand in his pocket and pulled out Jim's notes. He held them out in his hand, his thumb anchoring them against the breeze.

"I got your notes," he said softly. "I love you too."

Because that's what Jim had said, in his notes about clean socks and oral hygiene. Once Blair had been able to look between the lines, the message had been clear. He could see it now, shining out of Jim's eyes and the smile that was slowly spreading across his face.

Jim pulled him into a fierce hug, stealing his breath in more ways than one. "Welcome home, Blair."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> This fic is dedicated to smiles2go, who wanted some fluff. Hope it was fluffy enough for ya! ::grins:: Special thanks to Wikipedia, which is my source for, well, everything!_


	7. Crystal

**Crystal,** Stevie Nicks

_Do you always trust your first initial feeling  
>Special knowledge holds truth bears believing<br>I turned around  
>And the water was closing all around<br>Like a glove  
>Like the love that had finally, finally found me<br>And I knew  
>In the crystalline knowledge of you<br>Drove me thru the mountains  
>Thru the crystal-like a clear water fountain<br>Drove me like a magnet  
>To the sea<em>

_How the faces of love have changed turning the pages_  
><em>And I have changed oh, but you...you remain ageless<em>  
><em>I turned around<em>  
><em>And the water was closing all around<em>  
><em>Like a glove<em>  
><em>Like the love that had finally, finally found me<em>  
><em>And I knew<em>  
><em>In the crystalline knowledge of you<em>  
><em>Drove me thru the mountains<em>  
><em>Through the crystal-like a clear water fountain<em>  
><em>Drove me like a magnet<em>  
><em>To the sea<em>

_I turn around and the water was closing around me_  
><em>Well I turned around and the water was closing around<em>  
><em>I turned around and the water was closing around...me<em>  
><em>Well I turned around and the water was closing around...<em>

* * *

><p><em>Jim,<em>

_I'm sorry for leaving without telling you, but it would've been too easy for you to make me stay. And I can't. I can't deny what I experienced – what we experienced – and I won't deny my feelings, not anymore. Whenever I close my eyes I see you and Alex on that damn beach. And I feel betrayed and jealous and like I don't matter to you at all._

_I need to process, and I can't do it here with you pretending nothing is different. If you want to come after me, it will be your choice. Just like everything has always been your choice, Jim. I won't tell you where I'm going, but I know you'll find me if that's what you want. Either way, I'll accept your decision._

_You're my best friend, Jim. And I'll never forget everything you've done for me. I won't ask anything more of you. Take care of yourself._

_Blair_

*o*o*o*

Jim stood out on the balcony, watching the sun set over Cascade without really seeing it. He was trying to be angry with Sandburg, without success. All he could feel was disappointment – in himself, mostly. He'd let his friend down in so many ways over the last couple of weeks; hadn't been his Blessed Protector or even his friend. The shame clung to him like a foul odor.

The phone rang behind him, but he made no move to answer it. He knew it wouldn't be Sandburg and he didn't want to talk to anyone right now. Their friends would blame him, he knew that well enough. They'd seen how he'd treated his so-called Guide, how he'd pushed him away.

The ringing cut off as the answering machine picked up the call.

"It's Megan. Just checking in to see how you're doing, Sandy. Give me a call, okay?"

The machine clicked and silence filled the loft once more. Jim wasn't looking forward to telling Megan that Sandburg had gone. She, more than anyone, understood the importance of the relationship between Sentinel and Guide, and she'd been in Sierra Verde; she knew what Jim had done, how he'd been unable to keep his hands off the woman who had killed his best friend. He suspected that Megan was also aware of the magnitude of what had happened that day at the fountain, though they'd never talked about it.

The phone rang again, the noise of it jangling along Jim's nerves and making his jaw clench. He should just turn the damn thing off.

"Two words: poker night! Tomorrow at my place, six o'clock. Looking forward to taking your money, Hairboy!"

Henri, talking big as always. It was hard to beat Sandburg at poker; he could read visual cues almost as good as Jim. When the phone started in for a third time, Jim stalked back inside and switched both the ringer and the machine off. He didn't want to listen to anyone else being a better friend to his Guide than he had been.

With a sigh, he fished a beer out of the fridge and plunked himself down on the couch. He turned on the television, surfing around until he found a mindless cop drama to watch. And for the rest of the night he pointedly ignored Sandburg's letter, which lay on the kitchen table right where he'd found it.

*o*o*o*

Jim was up before the sun the next morning, feeling unaccountably anxious. He did a quick scan of the loft and didn't notice anything out of place. He shrugged it off and went about his usual morning routine, trying to enjoy the silence.

He started the coffee and pulled out a bagel to toast up for breakfast. He still felt edgy, and found himself fidgeting with the butter knife. He was glad when the toaster finally popped; now he had something to do with his hands. He ate as slowly as he could, but there was only so far he could stretch a bagel.

Jim did a thorough wipe down of both the table and the counter, then held the toaster upside down over the trash can and knocked the crumbs out of it. When there was nothing left to distract him in the kitchen he decided to just get dressed and head in to work early, even though it felt a little like running away, like he couldn't stand being alone in his own home. And that just made him angry.

"I'm perfectly happy here by myself!" he called out. With renewed determination, Jim headed upstairs to get dressed. Yet somehow his feet betrayed him, carrying him to Sandburg's door instead. He reasoned with himself that with his roommate gone he'd need to reclaim the space, so he may as well see what needed to be done. Not much, as it turned out.

Almost all of Sandburg's things were still in boxes, the same boxes Jim had packed for him when he kicked him out of the loft. _When you sent him to die_. Jim shook his head but he felt sick. He sat down on the lumpy futon, every empty surface in the small room an accusation. He tried to defend his actions – he wasn't in his right mind; if Sandburg had only told him about Alex; if those damn dreams hadn't gotten him so freaked out – but it all felt hollow.

In three years he'd gotten to know his roommate pretty well, well enough to figure out that in the back of his mind he was always somehow waiting for Jim to send him away. He'd even vocalized that fear several times, when things had been especially touchy between them. Sandburg's mother had set the pattern for that when her son was just a baby; don't get too comfortable, because you can't stay. Jim hadn't done anything to negate that world view either, with his many house rules and complaints about Sandburg's clutter. Had he ever made the younger man feel comfortable here?

Jim reached over and opened one of the boxes. It was filled with the kid's journals and he was shocked to see that they'd been left behind. He grabbed one at random and opened it in the middle, feeling guilty as he read the closely packed words written there in Sandburg's neat handwriting.

_Simon came back today, no worse for wear from his big hospital adventure. Only he could uncover a murder plot while recovering from a gunshot wound. Then again, I guess I know as well as any cop that you can't leave the job behind. Pretty scary thought, really. (note: follow up for alternate diss, correlate to incidences of divorce, self-destructive relationships)_

_ I hope Finkleman has better luck at her new assignment. Can't say I'm sorry to see her go. Jim was amazing, though. He fought hard to keep me as his unofficial partner – I've never seen him so angry on my behalf, so willing to buck authority. I know I should feel good about that, and a part of me does, but I can't help wondering about the underlying reason for his behavior. _

_ Jim's got a great handle on his senses now. I've given him the tools he needs and he really doesn't need me tagging along behind him anymore. I'm just the guy who waits in the truck and calls for backup. And so I'm back to questioning Jim's motive for keeping me on ride-along. Am I some kind of security blanket for him? Or does he genuinely like having me around? I'd prefer the latter, of course, more than he'll ever know. But shouldn't I be thinking of myself too? I could be spending more time on campus and less time on stakeouts._

_ It's my own fault, I guess. I taught Jim too well. And I can say I keep hanging around "just in case" but that's a lie, isn't it? When Jim did that undercover stint at Starkville I was beside myself. So much could've gone wrong, and I was so sure that there, of all places, he'd need help with his senses. But he was fine. Well, mostly. Without me he had no trouble with his senses and that's when it really hit me how superfluous I've become._

_ It's time to re-evaluate my life, I guess. I feel like I'm losing Jim, like any time now he's going to ask me to leave, and wouldn't it be better to have a plan before that happens? It makes perfect sense, so why does the idea of leaving fill me with such a sense of loss? There are no easy answers, obviously. I'll have to meditate on this some more._

Jim closed the journal with a snap. He'd had no idea Sandburg felt that way. He should've known that his Guide was feeling conflicted, should've seen how much space had been growing between them. He knew part of it was his own unwillingness to rely on other people. He didn't want to need anyone, to become dependent on someone else, but it had been unavoidable in the beginning – without Sandburg he would have literally lost his mind.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. This was stupid and pointless. Sandburg was gone and he was better off for it. Jim tossed the journal back in the box and closed the French doors behind him when he left the room. He had work to do and it was time to focus on the job.

*o*o*o*

As if some unofficial bulletin had gone out, everyone stayed well away from Jim when he got to work. Sandburg would probably say he was giving off too many negative vibes. Whatever the case, he found he didn't mind. The less people who bothered him, the less snarling he'd have to do. God, he hated feeling so on edge!

He should've known there was one person who would dare to cross out of the safe zone, though he did his best to ignore her. Like that could ever happen.

"Where's Sandy?" Megan asked, hands on her slim hips.

Jim focused his attention on the cold-case file open on his desk. He didn't want to have this conversation with her, not here and not now. He wished she'd take the hint and get back to work.

"He didn't return my call," she persisted.

"Do I look like a message service, Connor?" he snapped. Still he didn't look at her; he was pretty sure he knew what expression was on her face.

"What's got your knickers in a twist, Jimbo?" she demanded.

Jim's hands clenched into fists. "I'm busy."

He was startled when Megan had the audacity to put her hands on him, grasping his chin and forcing him to look up at her.

"Connor…" his voice was practically dripping venom and he was vaguely aware that all activity had ground to a halt around them.

"Balls," Megan muttered, after studying his face for a long moment. "What did you do?"

Jim yanked his head from her grasp, fairly vibrating in fury. What the hell did she think she knew? He opened his mouth, ready to lay into her for manhandling him, and found himself being yanked out of his chair by his ear – his _fucking_ _ear_ – like he was some recalcitrant boy who needed punishing.

"Break room," Megan snapped. "Now."

There was an expectant air in the bullpen, as if everyone were holding their breath in anticipation. Well, James Ellison was no-one's sideshow entertainment. He grabbed Megan's wrist, freeing his throbbing ear, and twisted her arm up behind her.

"You touch me again, I'll break your God-damned arm!"

That should've been the end of it, but Connor brought her foot, encased in a high-heeled boot, down on his ankle. Pain blossomed there instantly and before Jim could even deal with that she threw her head back, cracking her skull painfully against his nose.

"Damn it!" He clapped his hands to his face, his nose gushing blood, while Megan took several steps away from him and straightened her clothes; her red face belied her seemingly calm exterior.

"Connor! Ellison! Get your asses in here!"

Jim winced at the anger in Simon's voice, but nonetheless obeyed. He couldn't see much, his vision blurred with tears from the pain in his nose, but he got the impression that everyone in the bullpen was watching him with wide eyes. Once he and Megan were in the Captain's office, Simon slammed the door and tossed his glasses on the desk.

"What the hell is wrong with the two of you? I have never seen such a ridiculous display in my life!"

"Something's up, Captain," Megan explained. "Ellison did something to Sandy."

Simon sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He studied the pair in front of him for a moment, then handed a box of tissues to Jim.

"Inspector Connor, you cannot accost your fellow detectives in the middle of the bullpen."

"Sir, he's guilty of something. I don't know what, but it's all over his face."

"She broke my nose!" Jim countered, his voice thick.

"It's not broken, you daft lummox," Megan said with a careless flick of her hand.

"Yeah? Cause it feels fucking broke."

"Maybe if you'd stop acting the bloody whacker…"

"Enough!" Simon roared.

Jim looked out the window, resentment coursing through him. Why was everyone always ready to pin the blame on him when something was up with Sandburg? It didn't make him feel any better to realize that Megan was right – his nose wasn't broken, just sore and swollen; the bleeding had already stopped.

"Where's Sandburg?" Simon asked, slipping his glasses back on. Jim looked at him defiantly.

"Gone, Sir."

Megan whirled on him. "Gone? What do you mean, gone? What did you _do_?"

"Gone, Connor. Do you need a translation? He's left, packed up, disappeared. He didn't leave a forwarding address." Some of his anger slipped away when he said the words out loud. He hated the feeling of defeat that took its place.

"Jim," Simon started to say, but Megan cut him off.

"This is about Barnes and Sierra Verde, isn't it? Did you even apologize?"

"Connor…" Simon sputtered.

"Apologize for what?" Jim said. "I couldn't help what happened there."

"That's rich." Megan laughed humorlessly. She crossed her arms, her expression stormy. "I saw what happened, saw what you did to Sandy. You bloody well should've apologized, down on your bloody knees."

"You don't know a damn thing about it!"

Jim and Megan stood inches apart, noses almost touching, completely disregarding Simon who threw up his hands and sat back in his chair.

"Don't you try that with me, Ellison. I have eyes. I see how you two are with each other. I was there. I saw how devastated you were when he died."

"I'm not talking about that, not with you or anyone else!" It was bad enough he had to remember it, that he couldn't forget it had happened. Alex had killed his partner, his best friend. His Guide. And that was all on him. It always would be.

"So, what? You're going to let your relationship die too? Is that what he came back for?"

"There's no relationship!" Jim snapped. There had been talk, sure, but that was natural when two grown men lived and worked together. And maybe he'd had a passing thought or two in that direction, but passing is all they had been. All they ever could be.

"How long were you married?" Megan asked, her eyes narrowed.

"If you're that interested, go read my file."

"How _long?_"

"Eighteen months," Simon said. Jim flashed him an incredulous look. Megan poked him in the shoulder, drawing his attention back.

"You've been with Sandy for four years, Jim. Tell me again how you're not in a relationship. Explain to me why you can't make things work with any of the women you've dated, but it's so easy with Sandy."

"She's got a point, Jim," Simon said almost apologetically. "I'm just as surprised that he's hung in with you this long."

"You think I wanted any of this?" Jim asked, his nose throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

"No. But you needed it," Megan said softly. "A blind man can see how much he loves you."

Jim tried to cling to his anger, even as his eyes started to burn from the onslaught of unshed tears.

"Simon," he choked.

"Take the rest of the day," Simon said. "And then we're going to talk. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Sir." Gratefully, he hurried out of the office, gathered up his things and fled for the safety of home. It wasn't like he could really escape, though, because his brain wouldn't stop worrying at the problem that was Sandburg.

*o*o*o*

Jim sat on the couch, head back and a bag of frozen peas on his nose. His throbbing ankle rested on a pillow on the coffee table. He was ashamed of his behavior at work and embarrassed that Megan had gotten the drop on him, both physically and emotionally. He could only imagine what Sandburg would have to say about it, and felt a pang at the thought that his partner was gone.

Maybe Megan was right, about him being in a relationship of sorts with Sandburg. He certainly got along better with the younger man than he ever had with Carolyn. A dozen domestic scenes flashed through his mind – Sandburg fixing him breakfast, the two of them cooking dinner together, cheering at Jags games, reading together in the living room. Their friendship was unlike any he'd had before, so all-encompassing; they did almost everything together and it only served to deepen the connection between them. In this case, familiarity did _not_ breed contempt. Still, it was one thing to accept a friendship and another to think of it as something more, something physical. Jim just wasn't ready to go there.

With a groan, he tossed the peas on the coffee table, heedless of the watermark that would undoubtedly be left behind as they thawed. He stretched out on the couch and threw an arm over his eyes, careful of his tender nose. Maybe if he just took a nap, things would make more sense. While he worked at clearing his mind and picturing a big blank wall, he fell asleep.

*o*o*o*

_The sand was warm beneath Jim's bare feet. Waves lapped the shore, a sensual backdrop for the heat the flowed through his veins. He held Alex in his arms, her full lips open beneath his; he'd never tasted anything so intoxicating. Her hands were a warm weight on his hips, tugging him closer. He broke away from the kiss so that he could taste the skin on her neck, salty from sweat and sea spray._

"_Jim." His name was little more than a moan, a sound of need, but the voice didn't belong to Alex. Jim pulled back, surprised to see that he'd been kissing Blair. His friend looked back at him, eyes heavy-lidded with lust and mouth red and swollen from Jim's kisses. He was dressed as he had been that day in Sierra Verde, in that ridiculous palm tree shirt._

_ "Blair? What the hell are you doing?" Jim was shocked, angry, and flushed with his own desire. _

_ "Come on in, man," Blair said, his voice thick with need. "The water's nice."_

_ "No. No!"_

_ Jim pushed his friend away. Blair hung his head and started moving slowly backwards, into the surf. Water lapped at his ankles, then his knees._

_ "Twice rejected," he said, his voice choked now with sorrow. He looked up at Jim as the water reached his waist; his eyes were full of tears._

_ "Chief…wait. Stop!" Jim put his hands out but found himself unable to move. The sand held his feet tight as cement._

_ "I gave you everything," Blair said. The water inched up his chest. "I asked for nothing."_

_ "I saved you!" Jim shouted. "I called you back!"_

_ "Why?" Blair whispered. "Why did you?"_

_ Jim wanted to answer him, wanted to tell him everything that he'd been hiding, but Blair's head disappeared beneath the water and it was too late._

_ "No! Don't you go! This isn't over! Blair! Blair!"_

_ This time there would be no last-minute miracle, no timely spiritual intervention. Jim dropped to his knees in the sand and wailed wordlessly to the sky._

*o*o*o*

Jim jerked awake, choking and clutching at his throat. For just a moment, mere seconds, he was sure he was drowning. When he was finally able to draw a breath he gagged on the taste of chlorine that flooded his mouth.

"Jesus," he wheezed. He struggled to his feet and stumbled into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water from the tap and rinsed his mouth with it several times. The chlorine taste quickly faded.

Jim leaned against the counter, taking deep breaths. Just a nightmare. That's all. His memory of being on the beach with Alex had just gotten mixed in with Sandburg's unexpected departure and all that crap Megan had said earlier. Didn't take a professor to interpret that.

At a loss for something to do, he decided to go with the old standby – cleaning. Since he was already in the kitchen he decided to start there. The cabinet under the sink was full of Sentinel-safe cleaning products and he hauled them all out. It had been a while since he'd done a deep clean of the loft and he didn't waste any more time getting started.

Jim appreciated the instant gratification of cleaning. There was a definite goal, progress was easily monitored, and all the gleaming surfaces filled him with an odd mixture of pride and relief. This was a task easily met and easily completed; no complications, no messy emotions. Carolyn had never understood his need for everything to be so tidy. She thought it meant Jim didn't think she was a competent housekeeper. She didn't understand why the dinner dishes couldn't soak while she relaxed for a little while. Jim had ended up taking over most of the domestic chores because he needed to have everything just so.

Sandburg picked on him about being Mr. Clean, but he seemed to understand it on some level. He found cleaning products that wouldn't harm Jim's sensitive skin. And even though he was an inherent slob, he did try to clean up after himself. Sometimes he'd even helped Jim, worked side by side with him tidying up here or there, and for some reason that had meant a lot. Even in this Sandburg had never made him feel like some kind of freak just because he felt the need to micro-manage his environment.

Jim got out the Swiffer mop once all the kitchen surfaces and appliances were sparkling clean. He swept the kitchen floor first before using the mop, being sure to get all the corners and the baseboards. With his Sentinel vision dialed up, not a single speck of dirt stood a chance.

The loft had always been exceptionally tidy, until Sandburg had moved in. Funny how Jim had found less time for cleaning after that. Die Hard marathons, fishing trips, even those stupid Sentinel tests; his life had gotten fuller when he wasn't watching. Less time to obsess over discolored grout and more time enjoying himself.

Jim cast his thoughts back to the time just before Sandburg came into his life. He could acknowledge now that he'd been lonely. Work had been the biggest thing in his life and he'd spent more time there than anywhere else. He was barely dating, instead always trying to get Carolyn to go out with him. It wasn't because he wanted to try again with her, but because it was easy; he already knew what to expect from her, already had that shared history to draw from for small talk.

When the kitchen had been cleaned to his exacting standards, Jim turned his attention to the little bedroom beneath his own. Mentally creating a checklist of what needed to be done, he moved everything out of it and into the living room. He stripped the futon and took the sheets and curtains downstairs to the laundry room to get them started in the washer.

Jim swept the room, and got the cobwebs that were dangling from the corners of the ceiling. The dust bunnies in there were fierce, but he quickly swept them into submission. Once that was done he used the mop on the wood floor, which hadn't been cleaned this thoroughly since before Sandburg had moved in.

While he waited for the floor to dry, Jim threw the sheets and curtains in the dryer, then came back upstairs and used window cleaner on the French doors and furniture polish on the desk and dresser. He wrestled the furniture back into place and started unpacking the boxes. He had a pretty good idea where things had been before, and for those things he didn't he improvised. From fetishes to flannel shirts, he handled everything carefully and almost reverently.

The final touches were rehanging the curtains and making the bed. When he was done, Jim sat in the desk chair and surveyed his handiwork. He felt better now that the boxes were gone, and being surrounded by all of Sandburg's things made a little piece of his universe snick back into place. The only thing missing now was Sandburg.

*o*o*o*

All activity in the bullpen came to a screeching halt when Jim walked in the following morning. He studiously ignored everyone as he made his way to Simon's office. He knocked and went in without waiting for permission to enter. Simon looked up at him searchingly.

"Morning, Jim."

"Simon." He stood stiffly in front of the desk. "I would like to apologize for my actions yesterday. I was out of line."

"Bullpen grapevine says you were provoked. Apology accepted." A grin tugged at the corners of Simon's mouth. "Inspector Connor is very sorry, and I expect she'll say so when she gets back from her new assignment."

Jim sat down, confused. "New assignment?"

"She's helping Traffic, writing parking tickets. Just temporarily."

Jim chuckled. "Oh, man. You really punished her with that one. Uh…should I be worried?"

"No. Not yet, anyway." Simon leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

Jim sighed. "Sandburg left. It's my fault. What I did in Sierra Verde."

"The Sentinel sex thing?"

He winced. "Yeah, well, things never got that far. But they could've and I wouldn't have been able to stop it. How could I do that to him, Simon? He…he saw. Saw me kissing Alex, like she hadn't tried to kill him, like I didn't even care."

"I don't know what you want me to tell you," Simon said apologetically. "What I don't know about this Sentinel business is everything. Did you talk to Sandburg about it?"

"No. I guess…I just wanted to pretend it didn't happen." Jim wished he could kick his own ass. Hadn't he learned by now that repressing his issues didn't fix them? He could face down the worst, most dangerous dregs of society, but his emotions always sent him running for cover. He was pathetic.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know, Simon. I don't know where Sandburg went."

Simon nodded. "Kid's been working with cops too long. I did a check, but he's completely off the grid."

Jim was somehow not surprised. "Well, it's not like he has a credit card we could track. Hell, he rarely has any cash."

"He's got some now. About the only thing I could find out was that he sold his car."

Jim felt his chest constrict. "What? The Volvo?" But he loved that car! For the first time he really began to fear that Sandburg was gone for good.

"Unless he contacts one of us, there's not much else we can do at this point. I'm sorry, Jim."

"Yeah, me too." Jim got up and went to the door. "Better get back to those cold cases."

"If you need anything…"

"I know. Thanks."

Jim went to his desk and sat down, booting up his computer and looking with resignation at the files stacked on his desk. Until a new case came in he was stuck with these. He looked over at the empty desk next to his. Sandburg's desk. The kid wasn't a cop, wasn't even a paid consultant, yet he had a desk. He had the respect of everyone in Major Crimes. He was the only partner Jim wanted, the only one he trusted to have his back.

Funny how Sandburg had slipped into spaces in Jim's life that he hadn't even realized were empty.

*o*o*o*

Jim and Megan sat in a booth at Wonderburger, sharing a greasy dinner. She'd apologized for her less-than-professional behavior the day before, and Jim had apologized for biting her head off. He'd offered to buy her dinner; she'd suggested the fast food restaurant as neutral territory.

"What are we going to do about Sandy?" Megan asked, dragging a french fry through a puddle of ketchup.

Jim shrugged. "Simon already ran a search, there's nothing. He could be anywhere by now. It's not like we can put out a BOLO on him, or show his picture around the airport or the bus station."

"Suppose not. Can you…do you have a sense he's alright?" Megan blushed as she asked, as if it were an incredibly personal question.

Jim shook his head. "Just the five senses, Connor. I can't read minds."

"Oh. I just thought…after what you did at the fountain…"

Jim picked at his burger. It was possible that things could've changed if he hadn't refused to even talk about the shared vision with Sandburg. The kid had been so excited, the prospect of a new discovery lighting up his eyes despite the horrible circumstances. And Jim had shut him down, not wanting any more changes; he was happy with the Sentinel status quo. He had to admit, though, that having an extra Sandburg sense would go a long way towards easing his mind right now.

"Maybe he'll call."

"Maybe," Jim echoed, though he didn't agree. The note had been pretty clear about that. _I won't ask anything more of you._

"Connor?" he asked tentatively. "What you said yesterday. Do you really think Sandburg…I mean, did he ever say…"

Megan gave him a sad sort of smile. "I knew it the first day I was here. But no, Sandy didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Do you know what it cost him to leave the hospital so soon?"

Yes, he knew. Of course he knew. Sandburg had needed time to let his lungs heal, to finish the course of antibiotics he'd been on to prevent infection. Being dragged through Sierra Verde hadn't done him any favors.

"He came to me, you know," Megan continued. "Despite everything, he was beside himself worrying about you. _You_, Ellison. Not the Sentinel."

That was the crux of the matter, Jim thought. He was never sure how much of what Sandburg did was for the Sentinel, for the dissertation, and how much was for Jim the man. It was supposed to have been a business arrangement, plain and simple, but then nothing was ever simple with Sandburg.

"It's complicated," he said. "Everything is mixed up with his research."

Megan slapped her hand on the table, drawing several curious glances to their booth.

"Stop being so bloody daft! Four years, Jim. Do you still think after all this it's just for some bloody paper? Why else would he put up with a piker like you? Cripes, but you've got kangaroos loose in the top paddock!"

Jim couldn't work up any anger at the Aussie's tirade, even if he didn't understand half of it; the meaning came across loud and clear. He pushed his half-eaten burger aside, hunger gone.

"Look, Jim," Megan said in a much less strident tone of voice. "Sandy is my friend, and I don't like to see him hurting. If you can't deal with his feelings, it might be best to let him go."

Jim thought about the little downstairs bedroom, freshly scrubbed and waiting for its occupant. No. Letting Sandburg go was not an option, and that was something he should have realized the first time he read that damned letter.

"I'll think of something," he said, half to himself.

*o*o*o*

_Jim ran through the jungle, heart pounding in his chest. He was looking for his Guide but couldn't catch his scent. He was filled with a sense of urgency that he couldn't explain. The blue-tinted dream landscape was unnervingly silent – no bird calls, no rustling leaves, just his own pounding heartbeat and panting breath._

_ He ran and ran, until his leg muscles were burning. Just when he thought he couldn't take one more step, he burst into a clearing and found himself facing the Temple of the Sentinels._

_ "No!" he gasped. He skidded to a stop and bent over, hands on his thighs while his chest heaved for air. "Not again."_

_ "Why do you fear this place, Enqueri? Incacha appeared before him, wearing the bemused expression he always had, as if he were privy to a joke that no-one else was in on._

_ "I betrayed my Guide," Jim said when he'd caught his breath. The temple seemed to loom over him, dark and deadly. He'd seen terrible things in there, things he wanted to forget._

_ "Incacha, why did Alex affect me the way she did? I don't understand."_

_ "You have not committed yourself. You have left your Guide, and in turn yourself, vulnerable." The Shaman sounded disapproving. "Are you not tired of these battles with yourself?"_

_ "I don't understand," Jim said again. Incacha took a step forward and placed his hand palm down on Jim's forehead._

_ He gasped as a jolt of energy coursed through him, and suddenly the knowledge was there, easily attainable and examined. It was like being in the pool again, bombarded with images, only now there were words and feelings too. It all seemed to hinge on something called the True Bond. Because it wasn't in place, Alex's arrival in Cascade had been a challenge. If she hadn't been crazy, she'd have taken Blair as her Guide. Instead, he'd been rejected first by Jim when he'd thrown him out of the loft, and then by Alex when she'd drowned him in the fountain._

_ "No!" It came out as strangled cry, because now Jim could see Blair thrashing in the water, fighting for his life. Could hear the painful straining of his heart. And with no Guide for either Sentinel to bond with, they had tried to bond with each other._

_ "It is not ideal," Incacha said, removing his hand and leaving Jim shaken. "The True Bond is for the Guide and the Sentinel."_

_ "He loves me," Jim said desperately, trying to get the image of his Guide dying out of his head._

_ "As he should. Why do you fear this, Enqueri?"_

_ "I've given him so much control already," he admitted. "If I give it all, what's left of me?"_

_ Incacha sighed. "Love is not control. It is sharing life's burdens, and easing life's sorrows. There is much you do not know that you should."_

_ "No-one I love stays," Jim whispered. It was his darkest truth._

_ "You did not love him and he left," Incacha pointed out. "It has always been for you to decide."_

_ "I don't know how to find him."_

_ "Make your choice and the way will be open to you."_

_ "But…"_

_ "Accept what is freely given, and give freely of yourself in return. Or do not. You must choose."_

_ Between one breath and the next, Incacha was gone. Jim was left alone in the middle of the jungle, his mind reeling. The last thing he heard was the long, mournful howl of a wolf._

*o*o*o*

Jim sat up in his bed, choking. The taste of saltwater was thick in his mouth, making him gag. He got up and stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen, sticking his head under the faucet. He rinsed his mouth and, just as with the taste of chlorine, the saltwater faded away quickly.

The dream came back to him and he couldn't help being angry with Incacha. How was he supposed to know about this bonding thing? It's not like he got some kind of handbook when he became a Sentinel, or was gifted with any ancestral knowledge of how things were supposed to work. He and Sandburg were just stumbling through all this crap, doing the best they could. What else was there that he needed to know? What other mystical traps were waiting to be sprung?

Giving up on sleep for the time being, Jim went out on the balcony. The cool night air raised goosebumps on his bare arms and legs. He thought about what Incacha had shown him, and knew in his heart of hearts that what Megan had said was true. Blair loved him. He showed it every time he followed Jim into a dangerous situation. He showed it with white noise generators and special sheets and organic cleansers. He showed it by following Jim to Sierra Verde after Jim had pushed him away. It showed in how hard he tried to make sense of something that neither of them understood.

Time and again Jim had chosen to ignore what was in front of him, or put a different spin on it, one that didn't make him so uncomfortable. He'd lashed out at Sandburg countless times, but the kid had always been there, steadfastly refusing to give up. And maybe Jim had grown to expect it, had taken for granted that his friend would just keep taking his abuse.

"I'm such an asshole," he muttered angrily.

With a sigh he left the balcony and headed back inside. He hesitated a moment before going into Sandburg's room and stretching out on the futon. Surrounded by Sandburg's things, he wondered why he fought so hard against his own feelings. Would it really be so terrible, loving his friend? He'd never given himself that fully to anyone, not even Carolyn. Sandburg had _died_, that should've been a sign for him to get off his ass and do something, say something. Commit to something.

And really, it wasn't that big a step to take. Sandburg already had so much of him.

"I love you," he whispered to the dark room, trying the words out. It felt good to finally say them, even if there wasn't anyone else to hear.

*o*o*o*

Jim woke the next morning feeling unusually energized. It was as if he'd shed an unbearable weight overnight. He sang in the shower, and hummed while he made his breakfast. When he got to work he smiled at everyone, gave Rafe a hearty slap on the back, and even kissed Rhonda on the cheek.

"What's got into you?" Megan asked. "Are you off your face?"

"Can't a guy just be in a good mood?"

"Most guys. Not you," Henri said with a grin. "You win the lotto or something?"

Jim shrugged, not wanting to over-analyze his happiness. "Just woke up on the right side of the bed, I guess."

"Uh huh." Henri shook his head.

"Hey, you guys ever hear of Sunset Beach?" Jim asked. "Name's stuck in my head; must've seen something about it on TV."

"I can check for you," Rafe offered. He ran a Google search. "Let's see..well there's a show called Sunset Beach. Could that be what you're thinking of?"

"No." Jim stood behind him, reading the list of links over his shoulder. New Jersey. Costa del Sol. California. "Wait. This one."

Rafe clicked on the link, opening a site about vacation rentals in North Carolina. As soon as Jim saw the picture on the webpage banner, he knew it was the right one.

"So why this place?" Megan asked.

Jim turned to her, his eyes wide with surprise at his own instantaneous revelation. "I think that's where Sandburg is."

When he said it out loud it felt right, certain. He turned his focus inward for a moment and was started to find that he had a sense of his friend somehow; it was like a sound he could almost hear, or something teasing just at the edge of his vision.

"Are we on a coffee break?" Simon demanded. Rafe jumped, but Jim and Megan turned to him in excitement.

"He found Sandy!"

"Sir, I need some time off."

*o*o*o*

Jim had been driving for three days, through the mountains and inexorably East towards the sea, cursing Sandburg all the while for having run so far away. Didn't California have nice enough beaches? Still, he wasn't really mad. This new sense he had grew stronger the closer he got to Sandburg. Megan had been right about that too, apparently; he'd developed a sixth sense, one that would lead him right to his Guide.

Finally he saw the signs for Sunset Beach, and drove down Shoreline Drive, which turned into Sunset Boulevard. He followed it to the long stretch of land that was lined with boat docks on one side and white sandy beach on the other. He was momentarily unsure how to proceed now that he was here, but he focused on his new Sandburg Sense, letting it continue to lead him. He ended up in a public parking lot.

There was a long pier, crowded with people. But he was drawn to the beach itself. Sandburg was so close! There were fewer people out here on the sand, maybe because it was so late in the day. He walked right up to the shoreline, his sneakers quickly soaking through; he barely noticed. There in front of him was Sandburg, his back to the beach and up to his waist in the surf. His curls stirred in the light breeze, and his torso was bare. Jim focused his hearing until the familiar heartbeat filled his ears.

"Blair," he said, drinking in the sight and sound of him.

"You know him?" asked a masculine voice. Jim realized he wasn't the only one watching Sandburg; a man, quite a bit older than Jim and wearing baggy orange swim trunks, stood beside him.

"Yeah. He's my best friend." He said this with a challenge in his voice. The other man merely nodded.

"I think today's the day."

"The day for what?" Jim asked, watching Sandburg walk deeper into the ocean.

"He's been working up the nerve to fully submerge."

"What?" Jim asked, instantly panicky. But he understood, or thought he did. Part of Sandburg's "processing" must be dealing with the new fears that had dropped into his life after the fountain. And just as he came to that realization, he knew without a doubt that this was not something his Guide should be doing alone. He needed his Sentinel to watch his back.

Not wasting another second, Jim waded out into the water fully clothed, not even stopping to take off his shoes. Sandburg was almost ready, he could see it in the tensed muscles of his back, could hear it in the thunderous heartbeat. He was still an arm's length away when Blair went under, swallowed up suddenly by the ocean.

Jim fought the urge to yank him back out, his dream flashing painfully through his mind. This was something that had to be done. At least this time Sandburg wasn't alone, and when he came floundering back to the surface Jim grabbed hold of his hand and helped him steady himself against the gentle push of the water.

"Thanks, man," he said, pushing his hair out of his face. "I…Jim?"

"Hey, Chief."

They started at each other for a long moment, Jim still holding tight to Sandburg's hand. He noted that his friend looked a little thin, but not unhealthily so. He was filled with a yearning so strong he almost couldn't breathe.

"I did it," Sandburg said finally. "Faced my fear."

"Me, too," Jim said softly.

"How did you find me?"

"You were here all the time." Jim pressed Sandburg's hand to his chest, over his heart. "I just didn't know to look there."

Sandburg's hand convulsed until he had a death grip on Jim's shirt. His blue eyes were impossibly wide, a shade darker than the sky. Jim knew he could fall right into them and never come back out again, but there were words he had to say first. This was the True Bond and he felt there should be a little ceremony to it, something to mark it as a Moment.

"I give my heart to you, Blair Sandburg. Freely and with nothing expected in return. Everything I am is yours and I'll never let anything come between us again. Especially not me." He tried to grin, feeling suddenly shy.

Sandburg looked up at him, eyes swimming with tears that spilled out and mixed with the salty ocean water beaded on his face. He pulled Jim closer, his other hand grabbing the pocket of his Sentinel's shorts.

"All I ever wanted was to love you," he said, his voice shaking. "And have you love me too."

"Sorry it took me so long to realize it," Jim apologized. He wrapped his arms around Sandburg, delighting in the warmth of his bare skin. "I'm sorry for all of it. I have some stuff to tell you later."

"Is this a Sentinel thing?"

"Yes. And no." Jim pulled him closer still, until their bodies were pressed together from thigh to chest. One hand moved up to cup the back of his Guide's head. "This is just for me."

Leaning down, he captured Sandburg's salty lips in his own. The True Bond was a joining of the heart, but Jim needed something more, physical proof that this wasn't just a business partnership. When he said that he was giving Sandburg everything, he meant _everything_.

The final piece of his universe snicked into place and for the first time in his life Jim felt whole. He finally understood that it wasn't about giving up parts of himself; it was about being filled, added to instead of subtracted from. And Sandburg had managed to fill up all the empty spaces in his life, including the biggest one – the space in his heart.

"I love you," Sandburg said, lips moving against Jim's.

That love surrounded Jim the same way the water did, cradling him, supporting him. He was finally ready to accept what Sandburg had to give. The possibility of drowning was still there, but neither of them were afraid of it anymore.

"I love you, too, Blair. You were right. The water's nice."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> So, a little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff, a little bit of incomprehensible Aussie speak. LOL! Like so much of The Sentinel series, there were many, many things left unresolved. At least to my mind. This is just another take on what could have happened post-Sentinel Too._

_Please drop me a line if you're reading, I'd love to get some feedback!_


	8. Welcome to Mystery

**Welcome to Mystery**, by Plain White T's

_Imagine a place you can always escape to  
>An island off the coast of nowhere<br>A new destination of your own creation  
>Just waiting till you choose to go there<em>

_Blue tree tops and velvet skies_  
><em>Blue ready to blow your mind<em>

_Ooh, this is a place where your mind can escape_  
><em>All the problems today and go far, far away<em>  
><em>This is a time with no history<em>  
><em>Welcome to mystery<em>

_Imagine a city where everything's pretty_  
><em>And you, sir, you rule the kingdom<em>  
><em>You call the shots, you can do what you want to<em>  
><em>Oh, just imagine the freedom<em>

_Blue tree tops and velvet skies_  
><em>Blue ready to blow your mind<em>

_Ooh, this is a place where your mind can escape_  
><em>All the problems today and go far, far away<em>  
><em>This is a time with no history<em>  
><em>Welcome to mystery<em>

_Blue tree tops and velvet skies_  
><em>Blue ready to blow your mind, ooh<em>

_Imagine a room where the flowers they bloom_  
><em>Through the cracks in the floor and the ceiling<em>  
><em>Just you and the missus and rose scented kisses<em>  
><em>My, what a wonderful feeling<em>

_Ooh, yeah, this is a place where your mind can escape_  
><em>All the problems today and go far, far away<em>  
><em>This is a time with no history<em>

_This is a place where your mind can escape_  
><em>All the problems today and go far, far away<em>  
><em>This is a time with no history<em>  
><em>Feel no misery, come and visit me<em>  
><em>Welcome to mystery<em>

* * *

><p>Blair walked through the long grass down to the stream. The sun beat warmly on his shoulders and he was glad he'd opted for a t-shirt instead of something with longer sleeves. He scratched absently at an itch on his arm, listening to the song of the birds in the tall maple trees and the lazy hum of bees that dipped into the purple wildflowers growing in clumps down the side of the hill. He thought he just might take a nap out here, like a lizard on a rock. There were worse ways to pass the day.<p>

The babbling stream added another layer of comforting sound to the soundtrack of his day, and Blair made his way to a large boulder conveniently located beside the rushing water. Jim was there, fishing, wearing cut-offs and the dark blue t-shirt that Blair had always liked on him.

"There any fish in there?" he asked, stretching his legs out and throwing his head back, skin drinking in the warm rays of the sun.

"You tell me," Jim replied, casting his line.

"Hmm. Nice big trout, maybe. That would be nice for dinner."

As he said the words, Jim got a sudden tug on his line. In just a few minutes he'd reeled in a whopper of a trout, which he dumped into a bucket at the edge of the stream.

"That's a good one. I clean, you cook?"

"Sure thing, big guy."

Blair closed his eyes, feeling more relaxed than he had in a very long time. This was the life, right here. He listened as Jim gathered up his fishing gear, then joined him up on the boulder.

"We can't stay here forever, you know."

"Why not?" Blair opened his eyes just a bit and looked at Jim through his lashes. "It's nice here. Quiet. No crazy bad guys to chase, no gunfights, nothing blowing up."

"Sounds nice," Jim agreed. "But it's not home."

Blair flapped his hand in dismissal. "It's better than home." He lay back and stretched his arms out over his head.

"Make sure you put on some sunblock, Chief. Sun's pretty strong out here."

And suddenly the heat was almost overwhelming, close and pressing. Blair sat up, glowering at Jim.

"Stop that. Can't you just let me relax?"

"Sorry. I'll take the fish back up to the cabin and clean it."

"Yeah. Okay. I'll be along in a while."

Blair watched him go, pole in one hand, bucket in the other. When Jim had disappeared over the hill, the oppressive heat mellowed back out to comfortably warm and he sighed in relief. He lay back down, arms out, and wished Jim would just let him be.

*o*o*o*

The trout had made a fine meal, and both Blair and Jim were pleasantly full. Night had fallen and chirping cricket song filled the cool air. The cabin had a wide front porch that was lined with Adirondack chairs. Blair and Jim sat side by side, looking up at the night sky. Without city lights diminishing their glow, the stars twinkled brightly, each constellation on sparkling display.

"You ever see a meteor shower, Jim?"

"I don't think so."

"You'd remember if you had. They're really something."

Blair recalled being a young boy, laying out in a field with his mother and watching the streaks of light shooting across the sky. It was a good memory. He looked up now and saw movement in the night sky.

"Look! There's one!"

One was followed by another and another until the night was full of light streaking across the heavens. Just bits of rock burning up in the atmosphere, but somehow it seemed so magical.

"It's beautiful," Jim said softly.

"Can't see anything like this in the city, right?"

"I guess not."

Blair yawned. He hadn't done anything particularly intensive that day, but he was exhausted. Thoughts of the big bed with the down comforter began to fill his head.

"I'm gonna turn in," he said. "You want to go hiking tomorrow?"

"Sure," Jim said amicably.

"See you in the morning, then."

"Night, Chief."

Blair cast one more glance up at the sky, but the light show was over. He went inside the cabin and into his room. Jim's room was upstairs in the loft, which seemed appropriate; it was just like home. He sank into the big bed, stretching until his joints popped. Another pleasant day in paradise. He had a smile on his face as he drifted off to sleep.

*o*o*o*

_His joints ached, one more throbbing pain to add to countless others. His skin was on fire, his tongue thick in his mouth. He could hear someone whimpering in the dark, and wasn't sure if that sound was coming from his own throat or one of the others. He was tired. So tired. But almost as soon as his eyes drifted shut, the light was back, so bright it was blinding. And the pain was starting again._

*o*o*o*

The hiking trail up the mountain was wide and there were wooden benches set at regular intervals if he felt the need to stop and catch his breath. Of course, Jim never needed a break. At least he was being nice enough to shorten his strides so that Blair didn't have to walk faster.

"I love the smell of pine," he said. "We should go camping more."

"Camping is good," Jim agreed.

Blair saw a sign indicating a scenic overlook and he nudged his friend in that direction. There was another bench, this one facing a wooden railing. Beyond that was a stunning view. He leaned against the rail, taking it all in. The valley far, far below, marked with rectangles that denoted farm fields. Rolling green mountains all around, some with rocky escarpments bursting out of the middle of verdant growth. It almost looked like a painting, beautiful but somehow unreal.

"Get away from the edge," Jim said. "You're afraid of heights, remember?"

He hadn't, actually, but now his chest tightened. He backed up to the safety of the bench and sat down hard, trying to catch his breath. Jim sat beside him, legs stretched and arms across the back of the bench.

"Couldn't you just let me enjoy it?" Blair snapped once he'd gotten his breath back. "Jesus."

"Just looking out for you, Chief."

"Right."

They sat there a while longer, and then Blair got up and hit the trail again. Jim followed, neither one in any hurry. Blair decided to forgive Jim for spoiling his happy little moment; he knew his friend worried. And it was lucky he was even here.

"Sorry, big guy," he said when Jim caught up with him.

"No problem." Jim patted him on the shoulder. "Just don't want you doing anything foolhardy, Sandburg."

Blair just rolled his eyes. They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds being the rapid tapping of a woodpecker and the chattering of squirrels as they raced around the tree limbs overhead. It was very soothing.

"Do you think…" he started to say, and then he bent over, gagging. The thick smell of blood and death filled his nostrils; he could taste it in the back of his throat.

"You okay, Chief?" Jim asked, a hand on his back.

"God…don't you smell that?"

"Should I?"

Blair put a hand over his mouth, fighting back the rising bile in his throat. Jim must have his senses dialed way down to not be affected even a little.

"What is it?" Jim asked, concerned.

"I…I think…" Blair cast around, looking off the trail, until he saw the source of the smell. "Dead animal."

Jim followed his pointing finger and went to investigate. Blair's stomach roiled. He wasn't sure what kind of animal it had been; now it was just a twisted mass of raw flesh and broken bones. His stomach heaved and he couldn't fight it anymore. He scrambled off the trail, away from the miasma of death, and vomited into a patch of ferns.

"I think it was a deer." Jim was suddenly at his side, holding his hair back. "Something got at it, that's for sure. We should head back, Chief. Might not be safe out here."

Blair nodded, miserable. He'd really been looking forward to hiking today and now it was ruined. He didn't think he'd ever get that smell out of his nose.

*o*o*o*

_He didn't notice the stench anymore; his sense of smell had become adjusted to it. Excrement, blood, stomach fluids – none of it really registered. Not until there was an overabundance of it, all at once, enough to make him choke on the metallic tang of blood at the back of his throat. Not his, but that hardly mattered. One of the others, finally freed from this wretched prison. He wondered when it would be his turn. He prayed it would be soon._

*o*o*o*

The next morning was overcast and threating rain. Jim made a fire in the fireplace, and soon the cabin was nice and cozy. Blair loved the sound a fire made, all crackle and hiss. He settled into an overstuffed easy chair with a book he'd found on the bookshelf. It was one he'd already read, but he didn't mind. Jim had found something to read as well, and was stretched out in front of the fire with it.

"How much longer are we going to be here?" Jim asked, turning a page.

Blair shrugged. "I don't know. Do we have to worry about it right now?"

"Guess not."

The silence grew between them again as the first drops of rain splatted against the windows. Soon it was coming down nice and steady, beating musically on the tin roof of the cabin. Blair felt he could stay there forever, wrapped up in an afghan and enjoying the relaxing sounds of the fire and the rain. He was getting drowsy, his eyes starting to droop, when a loud clap of thunder startled him back awake.

"Storm's coming," Jim said languidly.

"No shit," Blair replied. He went to the window, keeping the afghan wrapped around his shoulders. The sky outside was the color of a blackening bruise, the clouds seeming to boil. The rain was coming down in a solid sheet now. Lightening forked down from the raging sky, striking a tree in the yard and setting it ablaze.

"We should get out of here." Jim stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder.

"There's nowhere to go." Blair's breath grew short as panic flared. The whole cabin shook as the wind picked up, howling through the eaves. "No, I have to stay here!"

"It's time to go, Chief."

"No!" Blair tugged at Jim's arm, pulling him back from the door. Was he insane? Going out there would be suicide. "Wait, I remember now. There's a root cellar. In the kitchen. Come on!"

He pulled Jim along behind him, the afghan falling forgotten to the floor. Another clap of thunder made the windows rattle and Blair winced at the sound of it. They made it to the kitchen, and set into the floor he could see the handle of the trap door. Jim helped him lift it up, and Blair made him go down first; he didn't trust him not to make a break for the front door.

The trap door dropped down behind them, plunging them into complete darkness.

*o*o*o*

_There was movement now, making him sick. If he had anything in his stomach it would've come up, but all he could do was retch and cramp. This was it, he could feel it. His turn to be set free. And he feared the pain even as he wept in gratitude to know that it was finally over._

*o*o*o*

Blair woke in the root cellar, alone. In a panic, he flung open the trap door and scrambled up to the kitchen. Bright sunlight streamed in the windows. The storm was over.

"Jim? Jim! Where are you?"

How had he slipped away with Blair noticing? He did a quick search of the cabin, but there was no sign of his friend. He burst out of the front door and on to the porch, but the chairs there were empty, little puddles of water on each seat slowly drying in the sun.

"Jim!" Maybe he was down by the stream. Blair ran through the high grass, the legs of his jeans soaking through. The water was running higher and faster today from the rain, but Jim wasn't there.

He ran back up the hill and raced towards the orchard. He and Jim had spent a day picking apples, which Blair had made into pie. The storm had shaken a lot of them loose, and they lay red and gleaming on the ground. But still, there was no Jim.

"Jim!" Blair bent at the waist, breathing hard. He balanced himself with one hand on the trunk of a tree. How could Jim do this to him? How did he expect him to stay here, all alone? He didn't want to be alone.

He went back to the cabin, moving slowly now. He ached all over and felt exhausted, though he didn't think he should. Hadn't he just woken up? Maybe he was just horribly out of shape. When he reached the cabin, he hobbled up the porch steps and went straight to his room. He crawled into bed and pulled the blankets up over his head. All he wanted to do now was sleep.

"Jim," he muttered. "Where did you go?"

As sleep started to overtake him, he thought he felt Jim sit on the edge of the bed. He could almost feel his friend's fingers, gently sweeping across his forehead. He cried himself to sleep.

*o*o*o*

_"I know you're still in there, Chief. I wish you'd wake up and talk to me. I miss you. I'm sorry, so damn sorry. I should've found you sooner. God, I tried. I really, really tried. What you went through, I know it was horrible. I…it's…please just come back. It's safe now, Blair. It's safe. I'm here now, and I won't let anything happen to you."_

*o*o*o*

Blair slowly opened his eyes. Everything hurt, and for a long moment he wondered if it was from all the running he'd done. But then he realized he wasn't in the big bed in the cabin, curled up under a down comforter. This bed was small and hard, the room dim but certainly not the room he'd gone to sleep in.

Something was beeping and it took another long moment to place it; heart monitor. Oh. He was in the hospital. How had that happened? He turned his head on the flat pillow, looking at the man-shaped lump in the chair next to the bed. He blinked, clearing his vision enough to make out that it was Jim, sleeping with his neck twisted at an uncomfortable looking angle.

Blair felt a rush of gratitude. Jim hadn't left him, after all. He should've known better. His friend never let him down, not when it really counted. As his vision cleared even more, he could see how worn down Jim looked. His cheeks were dark with stubble, his clothes were rumpled. How long had they been here? And why?

"…'im." He could barely get the word out; his mouth was painfully dry. There was no reaction from the Sentinel, which was an indication of how exhausted he must have been.

Blair raised his hand, surprised to see an IV stuck in it. It trembled, a lot, but he reached out and rested it on Jim's arm. He was warm and solid and real; wonderfully present.

"…'im," he croaked again.

Jim jerked awake, looking disoriented for a moment until he his gaze fell on Blair and saw that he was awake. He covered Blair's hand with his own, a big smile spreading across his face.

"Chief? You back with me, buddy?"

"Water?" he whispered.

"Sure. Of course. Be right back." Jim started to get up, but quickly sat back down, looking anxious. "Will you stay awake? Please?"

Blair just nodded, amused in a vague sort of way. He was still so tired, but he couldn't let Jim down. Not when he hadn't left him. He tried to think about the reason he was in the hospital, but there was just the cabin and the stream. Just lazy days spent hiking and fishing and talking.

Jim was back in record time with a cup of ice chips. He slipped one between Blair's lips and it was liquid heaven, soothing his throat and moistening his mouth enough to talk.

"Why…hospital?"

"What do you remember, Chief?" Jim sat back in his chair, but he kept one hand on Blair's arm.

"Fishing. Cabin."

Jim looked confused. "What cabin?"

"Don't you…'member? You…were there." Only now Blair wasn't so sure. It was starting to feel a bit fuzzy, distant. Like the edges were blurring.

"It's okay, Blair. Don't worry. We'll figure it out, okay?"

"You didn't…leave," Blair whispered. "Thank you."

Jim's jaw clenched and he looked away. "I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner. So sorry."

"Storm's over," Blair murmured, drifting back asleep. "We'll be…okay."

Jim clutched his hand, being careful of the IV. "Get some sleep, buddy. I'll stay here with you. I promise."

"Love you."

"I know. Sleep now, okay?"

Jim pressed a kiss to his forehead and Blair smiled. Maybe this was what was real, after all. He drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that his friend was watching over him.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> I've been listening to this song a lot lately. It inspired a whole separate fic, which will be coming to a site near you soon, but then it also gave me the idea for this songfic. That's a hard-working song! Hope you like this piece, which is kind of dreamy, dark and sad._


	9. Mythology

**Mythology**, by VersaEmerge

_I've looked right past the simple things  
>What have my eyes missed?<br>Stuck in a space where nothing seems to fit  
>You live a myth, obsessed with it<br>Quiet as the sound  
>I'm always asking what it means<br>And now I can't stop twisting round and round_

_I've grown into this_  
><em>This myth with you<em>

_I can't stop twisting around this storyline_  
><em>Distorting my insides<em>  
><em>I won't forget I'm drenched in it<em>  
><em>'Cause I can't stop twisting around this storyline<em>  
><em>Tangled words were never mine<em>  
><em>I won't forget I'm lost in it<em>

_Slowly bending backwards_  
><em>Til my days become misshaped<em>  
><em>You deftly sway my thoughts with your fictitious ways<em>  
><em>Nothing in me works the same<em>  
><em>You've got a lot to explain<em>  
><em>Still I'm asking<em>  
><em>And still I can't stop twisting<em>

_I've grown into this myth with you_

_I can't stop twisting around this storyline_  
><em>Distorting my insides<em>  
><em>I won't forget I'm drenched in it<em>  
><em>'Cause I can't stop twisting around this storyline<em>  
><em>Tangled words were never mine<em>  
><em>I won't forget I'm lost in it<em>

_Knots and crosses_  
><em>Skews<em>  
><em>I fold in two<em>  
><em>With this road we take<em>  
><em>I've lost all control of everything, especially me<em>  
><em>You've lost everything especially me<em>  
><em>You bite my tongue<em>  
><em>Now I believe<em>

_I can't stop twisting around this storyline_  
><em>Distorting my insides<em>  
><em>I won't forget I'm drenched in it<em>  
><em>'Cause I can't stop twisting around this storyline<em>  
><em>Tangled words were never mine<em>  
><em>I won't forget I'm lost in it<em>

* * *

><p>The loft was dark, save the flickering candle light that suffused the living room. Blair had set the candles up on the coffee table, a whole line of white pillars. The man himself sat cross-legged on the floor, back to the couch, and studied the item that lay in front of the candles – The Sentinel, by Blair Sandburg. The diss was finally completed. And now he had no idea what to do with it.<p>

There was no question that he couldn't submit it to the University. Or anywhere else, for that matter. It would bring far too much attention on Jim, which would be disastrous. His Sentinel didn't like being in the spotlight, and that's what would happen if news of the diss leaked out. Probably not everyone would believe the story, but enough would. And there was the all-too-real possibility that the wrong kind of people would find out, people worse than Brackett. So where did that leave him? With three years of work wasted.

Blair had to admit that it wasn't even the fact that he needed to protect Jim that kept him from being able to submit his diss. He'd lost his objectivity. He'd gone against the Prime Directive of the researcher, which was not to get personally involved with the research subject. He was supposed to sit back and observe, but that had not been the case, not even from that very first day.

_Blair hurried after Jim; he needed to tell him about the zone outs. And maybe get a second chance to convince him that he needed help. Clearly he'd gone about this the wrong way and had succeeded only in driving the big detective away. But he was just so excited to finally have found a true Sentinel, he wasn't thinking straight._

_And then all thought went right out of his head when he saw Jim standing in the middle of the road, still as a statue, with a truck bearing down on him. Crap! He must've zoned! Blair put on speed, grabbing Jim at the last minute and pulling him to the ground so that the garbage truck passed over them. Adrenalin pumped through his veins and he leapt to his feet as soon as the truck cleared them._

"_Wow! Oh, that really sucked, man!"_

He shook his head at the memory. He'd clearly not been very objective that day, but what was he supposed to do? Not intervene and let the Sentinel get run down? That would have brought his research to a screeching halt, but more importantly what kind of person would he have been? Yes, he wasn't supposed to get involved, but in some situations it was unavoidable.

In the end he'd gotten what he wanted – permission to ride along with Jim and observe him out in the field. It should have been simple, but then nothing in their relationship had ever been simple, had it? Jim needed so much help in the early days, help controlling his senses. Help expanding them. And was that an intervention, as well? Shouldn't he have been observing the Sentinel using his senses in whatever capacity he could? No, he had to jump in with suggestions for making it easier, making it better. Running his tests and constantly thinking up new strategies to help Jim cope.

Then he'd gone and moved in with the man. It was only supposed to be for a week when his place had unceremoniously blown up, but he'd managed to extend his stay indefinitely. He could rationalize it by bringing up Dian Fossey's work with the gorillas in Rwanda, how she'd lived among them to better study them. But there was no way to live among a group of primates, or even one Sentinel, without affecting the very thing you were supposed to be unobtrusively studying.

_"Sandburg, what the hell is this?" Jim stood in the kitchen, holding up a bottle of all-purpose cleaner._

_ "Um…all-purpose cleaner?"_

_ "Where's the 409 spray? That's the kind I always use."_

_ "Jim, that stuff is loaded with chemicals. Man, you do not need to expose your sensitive skin to that! This is organic, and it's much safer for you." Blair grinned at him and turned back to his laptop. He imagined there'd be more griping, but it didn't matter. Jim would get used to the new stuff, which wouldn't take long given the frequency with which he tended to clean the kitchen._

_ "Just ask me next time, okay Chief?"_

_ "Sure thing, Jim. Sorry." But he wasn't really sorry. Blair had always subscribed to the theory that it was better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Seemed to work well with Jim, anyway._

Objectivity. He'd probably lost it the second he met Jim. There was no way for him to remain detached, professional. More often than not he was right in the thick of things, helping Jim solve cases and getting chased by his share of criminals. Sometimes he wondered if he wasn't the subject of someone else's research, to see how the pacifist Anthropologist was forced to adapt to a police detective's lifestyle.

Still, he'd taken his notes and continued to run his tests, all the while pretending that his research wasn't becoming more and more for his own personal edification. Not just his own, though, because he hadn't been the only one with an interest in Sentinels, and that alone should have made him rethink the whole diss. He knew what happened when the wrong people got their hands on sensitive information.

_Brackett had read an early paper Blair had written on Sentinel's, and used his contacts within the CIA to gather intelligence on Jim's time in Peru, and his state of mind when he'd been rescued. He'd put it all together, and decided the best use of that information was to force Jim to help him steal something from the government. Which is why they were now crossing a mined bridge into a secure facility, at gunpoint no less, and everything seemed about to go horribly, horribly wrong because Jim had zoned and one misstep now would blow them all to kingdom come._

_ "What's happening?" Brackett asked. Blair wanted to slug him._

"_Jim? Jim! Oh, man! Not now, not now! It happens when he focuses so intently on one of his senses he loses all of his others. I thought you read my paper! Come on, Jim. Jim, come on. Breathe, buddy. Come on."_

_ Not that he could recall with any clarity at that point whether or not he'd written about zone outs in that early paper. He'd certainly covered that subject in great detail for the diss. None of Jim's zones had been as scary as that one, though. He'd never forget how he clung to his partner's back, waiting for both of them to get their equilibrium back and not trigger an explosion._

Brackett had been the one to name him Guide to Jim's Sentinel. He should've backed out then, because it was true. Burton hadn't had much to say on the subject beyond some vague generalizations, but Blair had been able to add a whole section to the diss about the role of the Guide. And that should've been one more thing for him to observe; instead he'd become the living embodiment of a semi-mythological figure.

Blair took a deep, cleansing breath; he was finally able to do so without coughing. He closed his eyes and tried to find his center. Tried to reach a place deep within himself that would direct him, tell him what to do now. He'd hate for the diss to be relegated to a box in the storage unit, or a dusty, forgotten shelf. The writing was really good, the information better. Surely it could help someone, somewhere. Maybe not now, but Jim couldn't be the only Sentinel out there.

Well, no, of course he wasn't the only Sentinel. They both knew that, now. Blair took another deep breath, but he'd lost his focus. Thoughts of Alex always had a way of doing that to him. He felt so many things when he thought about her – anger, guilt, fear, remorse. The waste of her abilities always saddened him. And he'd foolishly thought he could study her, could start fresh with a new subject. He'd certainly gotten himself in the middle of things that time, and in all the wrong ways.

_"Don't do this," Blair said, proud of the way he kept his voice from wavering. Alex just nudged him forward with the barrel of the gun, directing him outside and into the early morning air._

_ Everything had gone so wrong, and he couldn't help feeling entirely responsible for it all. He should have anticipated, should have known better. Things had been off with Jim and he hadn't pushed it, hadn't gotten to the root of it, and now here he was standing in front of the campus fountain with a homicidal Sentinel._

_ "I don't want to. You've been so helpful, Blair, you really have."_

_ "Then why?"_

_ "We don't need you anymore." Alex gave him a look that was mixed with sorrow and anticipation; it was terrifying. "Jim needs _me_. Needs someone who understands what it means to be a Sentinel."_

_ "I know…"_

_ "You don't know!" she screamed. "You don't know; you can only make guesses. You don't know what it's like! But Jim does, and I do, and together we can be something greater. I can give him more than you ever could, Blair. He'll come to me, and we will be one."_

_ "You're insane." Not the best choice of words, considering they would be his last. Alex pistol whipped him, and dumped him in the fountain while his head reeled and his vision danced with black spots. Already disoriented, he tried to breathe and pulled in a lungful of water. Alex put her knee in the middle of his back and kept his head under water. He felt real terror then, fought hard, but he didn't have the strength. His chest burned, his vision turned red, and his last thought was of Jim._

Blair scrambled up off the floor, deep in the throes of a panic attack. That memory was too fresh in his mind, too raw, and he should've known better than to go there. Now he couldn't breathe, his chest heaving. He bent over, hands clutching the arm of the couch, trying to draw in some air. His heart was pounding in his ears, masking the sound of the front door swinging open with a bang as Jim came running in full Blessed Protector mode.

"Blair! Calm down. It's okay, calm down."

Blair felt Jim gathering him up, holding him tightly. His head rested on his Sentinel's chest, and he could almost hear that heartbeat over his own.

"Match your breathing to mine. Blair! Feel my breath. Easy in, easy out."

He struggled to listen, and did what Jim told him. In a few minutes he was able to breathe easy; deep breath in, deep breath out. He sagged in Jim's arms and was propelled backwards to the couch.

"What happened, babe? What got you all worked up?" Jim sat beside him, one arm tight around his shoulders and the other under his arm, the Sentinel's big hand resting on his chest. Blair gestured to the coffee table, and the dissertation.

"You finally finished it."

"Yeah."

"And that threw you into a panic attack?" Jim's voice was equal parts worry and skepticism.

"Yes. No. It just got me thinking, you know?"

"Alex," Jim said softly.

"She said…she said only one Sentinel could really understand another."

"Ah, Chief." Jim pressed a kiss to Blair's forehead. "No-one understands me better than you. No-one else ever could."

Blair let the warmth of that flow over him. And of course this was the worst transgression against the Prime Directive, the one that really invalidated his research and his professionalism. He'd fallen in love with his research subject.

"So what are you going to do with it?" Jim asked, hand rubbing little circles on Blair's shoulder.

"I don't know. I can't present it. Maybe I should just feed it to the incinerator."

"No!"

Blair was taken aback by Jim's vehemence. He turned to get a look at his partner's face, saw the anger written there.

"Jim?"

"You worked hard on that, Blair. You're not destroying it."

"But…"

"No buts. We can lock it up in the safe for now. But we're not destroying it." Jim ran his fingers down the side of Blair's face, his touch light. "It brought you into my life, Chief."

Blair grinned. His Sentinel's sentimental side didn't come out often, and he enjoyed those too-few moments when it did. He should've just talked to Jim about the diss in the first place, gotten his input, instead of sitting here in the dark worrying about it by himself.

"Okay. We'll figure it out, big guy." He pressed a quick kiss to Jim's lips before extricating himself from his embrace. "How about I close the front door, and we have some dinner?"

"And after dinner…dessert?" Jim raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Blair gave him a hand up and found himself pulled into another embrace. "Sounds good to me."

Jim ended up being the one to close the front door and put the lights on, while Blair blew out the candles on the coffee table. He looked down at his diss, a little blob of white wax marring the title. There were three years of pain, laughter, terror, love and bravery between those covers. Three years of discovery. And he couldn't help but wonder what the next three years would bring.

"You wanna give me a hand with dinner, Chief?"

"I'm with you, big guy." _Always_.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> Love this song! And it fit so well with The Sentinel, I think. This was also my way of ignoring the events of TSbyBS, which bugs me to no end. LOL! _


	10. China

**China**, by Tori Amos

_China all the way to New York  
>I can feel the distance getting close<br>You're right next to me  
>but I need an airplane<br>I can feel the distance as you breathe_

_Sometimes I think you want me to touch you_  
><em>How can I when you build the Great Wall around you<em>  
><em>In your eyes I saw a future together<em>  
><em>But you just look away in the distance<em>

_China decorates our table_  
><em>Funny how the cracks don't seem to show<em>  
><em>Pour the wine dear<em>  
><em>You say we'll take a holiday<em>  
><em>But we never can agree on where to go<em>

_Sometimes I think you want to me to touch you_  
><em>But how can I when you build the Great Wall around you<em>  
><em>In your eyes I saw a future together<em>  
><em>But you just look away in the distance<em>

_China all the way to New York_  
><em>Maybe you got lost in Mexico<em>  
><em>You're right next to me<em>  
><em>I think that you can hear me<em>  
><em>Funny how the distance learns to grow<em>

_Sometimes I think you want me to touch you_  
><em>But how can I when you build the Great Wall around you<em>

_I can feel the distance getting close_

* * *

><p>It was just after eleven when Jim turned on to Floral Avenue. The streetlights were on, but most of the houses were dark. Including his own. He pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine, sighing. She hadn't even bothered leaving a light on for him, which was a sure sign he was in the doghouse. Again. He toyed with the idea of just going to the loft for the night, but figured it wouldn't be worth the fight that would follow.<p>

With another weary sigh, Jim got out of the truck and walked up to the front door, squinting in the dark to find the key. The door only opened an inch before it stopped; Carolyn had drawn the chain across. Jim stamped down on his anger, pulling the door closed and locking it up again. He walked around the side of the house and unlocked the back door, making no effort to keep quiet as he slammed it shut. Why did she have to be so petty?

He flipped on the kitchen light, jaw clenching when he saw the dirty dishes in the sink. She knew he hated that, knew he had to have things cleaned and put away. Well, that was fine. He'd leave the damned dishes for her to do in the morning. Instead, he turned his attention to the contents of the fridge, hungry despite the burritos he'd eaten on the stakeout. Jim pulled out a Tupperware container, sniffing hesitantly at the contents. Some sort of goulash, he guessed. With a shrug, he grabbed a fork out of the dish drainer and ate it cold from the container. They were out of beer, so he had to make due with a Pepsi.

Jim leaned against the counter while he ate. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to crawl in bed, though he wasn't looking forward to climbing the stairs to his bedroom; Carolyn had a way of exuding disapproval even in her sleep. He tossed the now-empty Tupperware in the sink, hesitated, then rolled up his sleeves and washed the dishes. He couldn't just leave them there. She didn't understand his need for things to be orderly, to have everything where it was supposed to be. Carolyn had told him it was cute when they were dating, but now that they were married she'd become much less tolerant of his so-called quirks.

When Jim finished wiping down the counters, he shut off the light and moved through the dark house, heading upstairs with dragging feet. The door to the bedroom was closed. He stared at it for a moment before deciding to sleep in the guest room. The bed in there was smaller, but it was blessedly empty. He took care of business in the hall bathroom, resting his forehead briefly against the mirror over the sink.

"I hate this," he whispered to himself.

He went to the guest room and stripped down to his boxers, neatly folding his clothes and putting them on the dresser. The sheets were cool when he slipped between them, and the pillow was too firm. He tossed and turned until he found a comfortable position, but it was another forty minutes before he finally fell asleep.

He dreamed of wolves.

*o*o*o*

_It was after midnight when Jim got home from the stakeout. This had been going on for the last three days and he was frustrated. If something didn't happen to crack this case soon, he was going to lose his mind. Especially when he had to make due without Sandburg, who was in the midst of finals and just couldn't spare the extra time._

_ The light over the kitchen sink was on and Jim grinned. Sandburg knew he didn't need it, but he always left it on when his roommate was late getting in. Jim shucked his jacket, hanging it on a hook, and toed off his shoes. His stomach was growling, so his made a beeline for the fridge. Sandburg had saved him a plate, covered in plastic wrap. Pork loin, wild rice and asparagus, plus a little note about how long to put it in the microwave._

_ Jim sat down at the table to eat, all the while thinking of crawling into his big bed for some desperately-needed sleep. He was almost done with his late dinner when the French doors opened and Sandburg poked a sleep-mussed head out of his room._

_ "Hey, Jim."_

_ "Did I wake you?" Jim asked. He felt guilty; the kid had been working overtime lately and exhaustion showed on his face._

_ "Nah. I was up." This was such an obvious lie that Jim didn't even bother calling him on it. "Just wanted to make sure everything was okay."_

_ "Everything's fine. Go back to bed, Sandburg."_

_ "Yeah. Okay. Night, Jim."_

_ Sandburg pulled his head back in his room and closed the door. Jim listened in as he got back into bed, sheets rustling. Almost instantly his breathing deepened and slowed as he dropped back to sleep._

_ Jim finished eating and washed the dish and silverware. A quick detour to the bathroom, and then he climbed the stairs up to his bedroom. He quickly undressed, folding his clothes and setting them on the dresser. He stretched out in bed, pulling on his eye shades. All he needed to help him drift off to sleep was the steady sound of Sandburg's heart beat, which he easily tuned into._

_ He slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep._

*o*o*o*

"You didn't come to bed last night," Carolyn said over breakfast the next morning. Jim didn't look up from the paper.

"I didn't want to wake you." He sipped at his coffee and checked the basketball scores. Jags had lost again. There seemed to be no end in sight for their losing streak.

"You didn't have to do the dishes."

Jim sighed. "You know I don't like them just sitting around."

"I would've done them," Carolyn insisted, a familiar edge to her voice.

"I'm not getting into this with you right now, Carolyn. I have to get to work."

Work had become his refuge and he looked forward to going in every day; ironic that he felt more at ease with the dregs of humanity than with his own wife. The job was cut and dried – people did bad things, he arrested them. He didn't have to deal with messy emotions, or uncomfortable silences. And at least at the PD, Carolyn was able to maintain a professional demeanor on the rare occasions they were forced to interact with each other.

"That's right, run off to play with the boys."

"Carolyn…"

"Just forget it."

Carolyn swept off to get herself ready for work. Jim grabbed the last piece of toast and his jacket and went out to the truck. He resolved to stop by the store after work and pick up some flowers and maybe that new teapot that Carolyn had talked about getting.

*o*o*o*

"I fixed the leaky faucet," Jim said that weekend. "And I put up the new shelves you wanted."

"Yeah, thanks," Carolyn said distractedly, moving around the kitchen putting desserts on serving plates.

"What are you doing? Are we having company?"

She pinned him with an incredulous look. "It's book club night. I swear to God, Jim, you never listen to a thing I say."

"Book club," he muttered. "Is it that time of the month already?"

He hated book club. Bunch of women sitting around ostensibly discussing the book they were supposed to read, but what they really ended up doing was dishing on the men in their lives, and how terrible they were. He headed for the stairs; he needed to get changed and get out of there before the other hens arrived.

"Where are you going?"

"Out. I'm not sticking around for book club."

"You could at least pretend to take an interest, Jim." Carolyn was angry. Again.

Jim didn't bother to remind her that he'd tried doing book club a couple of times and it had been a disaster. Or that she was never interested in doing anything he wanted to do. He didn't want to fight with her. He went upstairs and changed his clothes, and dropped a kiss on Carolyn's cheek as he headed out the door.

"I'll see you later."

"We're not done talking about this!" Carolyn called after him.

*o*o*o*

_Jim heard Sandburg coming up the stairs and finished putting his tools away. By the time his roommate unlocked the door and stepped into the loft, he was stretched out on the couch with a book._

_ "Hey, Jim."_

_ "Sandburg."_

_ "Oh, man, I hate working Saturdays." He plopped down in the chair next to Jim with a sigh. "I mean, who schedules office hours on the weekend? I don't know what I…uh…what's that?"_

_ Jim suppressed a grin. "I picked up a new bookshelf."_

_ "Yeah, so I see. Um…are those my books?"_

_ "Seemed like you were running out of room," Jim said with a shrug. He hoped he hadn't overstepped his bounds on this one; he never went into Sandburg's room as a general rule. But his roommate favored him with a bright grin._

_ "That's so great! Thanks, Jim! Wow!"_

_ Jim hid his own grin in his book. He liked doing things for Sandburg because the kid appreciated everything so much. Maybe next weekend he'd look into getting tickets to the next Jags home game. It had been a while since they'd gone to a basketball game together._

*o*o*o*

"I think you should sell the loft," Carolyn said over dinner. She'd made a roast chicken, which Jim only picked at because she'd cooked it too long and it was dry as toast.

"Why?" He told himself to take a deep breath, and hear her out. It wasn't the first time she'd hinted around about it, though she'd never come right out and said it before.

"Well, we could use the money for one. Honestly, can't Simon and Joel find someplace else to have poker nights?" Carolyn stirred her mashed potatoes with her fork, looking down at her plate instead of at Jim. "It doesn't make sense for you to keep another place…unless…"

"I'm not bringing women there, for God's sake!" Jim snapped. "And I'm not selling it."

The loft was his safety zone, his place to crash when things got too difficult at home. Which happened more and more. He supposed he could explain to Carolyn that the loft was the first thing he'd owned that was really his. After he got out of the Army, when he'd gotten that back pay he could never tell anyone about, all he'd wanted was something that was his, free and clear. But he'd waited, wanting just the right space, and after things had gone south with Jack Pendergast, he'd wanted it more than ever before. It was his and he wasn't letting anyone take it away from him.

"We can't afford paying maintenance on two places," Carolyn said, getting that icy bite to her voice that was so present these days. "You need to do the right thing."

"It's not right just because you say it is," he replied tersely.

"Don't you take that tone with me, James Ellison!" Carolyn finally looked him in the eye, and all he could see was anger and hurt flashing back at him. "We're in this together and we'll talk it out, and you'll do the right thing."

"There's nothing to talk about." Jim stood and took his plate to the kitchen, scraping if off into the trash. He looked out the back window, watching as dusk settled over the quiet street he lived on, and wondered how he'd ended up here.

*o*o*o*

_"What's this?" Sandburg asked. He'd just sat down to dinner and found an envelope propped against his glass. Jim set the platter of lemon chicken on the table and sat next to him._

_ "Open it."_

_ "It's not my birthday," Sandburg mused, rocking the envelope back and forth with one finger. "Not a holiday. At least, not one that would normally be observed at this time of the year in this part of the world. You know, in Newfoundland…"_

_ "Sandburg!" Jim said, exasperated. And then he tensed as his roommate finally gave in and opened the envelope, carefully tearing the end of it off. He watched his friend's eyes widen as he read the contents and held his breath._

_ "Jim? What…are you serious, man?"_

_ "Don't I look serious?"_

_ Sandburg studied him over the edge of the paper he held in his hands. "You look nervous."_

_ "Seriously nervous?" Jim said, trying for humor._

_ "Jim, this is the deed to the loft."_

_ "Yeah."_

_ "You added my name to it."_

_ "Yeah."_

_ "Why?" Sandburg asked, seemingly only curious and not upset. For some reason that made Jim relax and he put his elbows on the table._

_ "This is your place just as much as it's mine," he tried to explain. "If anything ever happens to me…"_

_ "Jim!" Sandburg tossed the deed aside._

_ "I'm a cop, Sandburg. Things happen. And I don't want to have to worry about you not having a home. This is your home." Jim finished with a lopsided shrug, embarrassed. He started to fill his plate, like it was no big deal. Sandburg stopped him with one hand on his arm._

_ "Jim," he said softly. "Thank you."_

_ They looked at each other for a moment, and then Jim grinned, feeling finally at ease. He knew his Guide would understand everything he'd been unable to say. That he didn't want Sandburg to ever have to worry about being thrown out. And that even if he left because he wanted to, for an expedition or something else, he'd always have a place to come home to. After spending half his life moving from place to place with his mother, Jim knew how much home meant to Sandburg. It seemed like such a small thing to give him in exchange for everything he'd been given._

_ "Does this mean I can choose the next color paint for the living room?" Sandburg joked, helping himself to dinner now too._

_ "Sure, as long as it's white or green."_

_ "You need to broaden your horizons, man. An accent wall in a big, bold blue, now that would be something."_

_ Jim rolled his eyes. His little corner of the universe just got a whole lot more secure, and if Sandburg wanted to paint the whole place pink he figured he'd get used to it. Eventually._

*o*o*o*

It had been the first nice evening they'd had together in a long time. Jim had taken Carolyn out to dinner at her favorite French restaurant downtown, and they'd even gone dancing afterwards. Now they were back at home, cuddled together on the couch, and Jim felt like maybe he could make this work after all. He liked it when things ran smoothly, when the harsh words and painful silences went away. Then he could remember why he'd married Carolyn in the first place.

"Remember that picnic you took me on, the first month we were dating?" Carolyn asked, casually tracing Jim's big hand with her fingers. "You took me on the ridiculously long hike up the mountain, and then you spread out this whole romantic lunch where we could see for miles."

Jim nodded, head rested back on the couch. "That was a nice day." He'd been actively wooing Carolyn then, had enjoyed the attention she was paying him and took the hints that she wanted more. They'd only been dating six months when he proposed, and they were married soon after that. He'd thought the loneliness would go away, but it hadn't. Not really. But on days like today it pushed back a little.

"I love you, Jim, you know that. Right?"

"You know I do."

"But you can't say it, can you?" Carolyn asked softly. "You keep this big part of yourself hidden away, and I thought that maybe when we were married I'd finally get all of you. I never will, will I?"

Though there was no accusation in her voice, just resignation, Jim couldn't help tensing up and pulling away. He was angry with her for spoiling the mood, and for throwing his faults back in his face. Yes, he had trouble saying those three words, but he thought he'd shown Carolyn his feelings every time he fixed some little thing around the house, or surprised her with flowers or tickets to a show. Why did he have to say it? Why _couldn't_ he say it?

Carolyn turned sideways to face him, her expression sad. "There's always been this distance between us, and it just keeps growing. Maybe we got married too soon, I don't know. I just know I can't do this anymore, Jim. I love you, but it's never going to be enough. For either of us."

"You want out, is that it?" he asked, jaw clenched painfully tight.

"I think it's time we both admitted we made a mistake," Carolyn said, reaching up to cup his face with one slender hand. "I'm so tired of fighting and carrying around this anger all the time. Aren't you?"

He nodded, jerkily, then pulled her to him tightly. "I'm sorry, Caro. So sorry."

"I know you are." There were tears in her voice but he didn't let her go. "I know you are, Jim. So am I."

They stayed that way a long time. Saying goodbye.

*o*o*o*

_Jim came home laden with carryout bags, which he dumped on the kitchen table. He'd pinpointed Blair's location in the loft even as he'd come up the stairs, and now made his way to the balcony. His partner stood there, framed by the double doors, looking out over the city. The setting sun limned his hair in liquid fire, covered his skin with a warm glow. He was beautiful. Jim moved in behind him, wrapping his arms around the other man's waist._

_ "I love you," he whispered. Blair leaned back into the embrace, sighing contentedly as Jim nuzzled his neck and nipped at his ear. _

_ "Love you, too, big guy."_

_ There was no need for any other words between them as they watched the sun set over Cascade. Soon enough they'd head back inside, share a meal and talk about their day. They'd watch some TV maybe, then go upstairs together, curled around each other in the big bed. For now there was just this moment, this closeness, this chance for Jim to drink in his partner for no other reason than because he could. _

_ When the sun had set and twilight had fallen, Blair turned in Jim's arms and pulled his head down for a slow, sweet kiss. Jim's heart felt full enough to burst, and there was so much he wanted to tell Blair. His friend had breached all his walls, had seen into the heart of him and hadn't shrunk back or run away, and instead of feeling defeated or vulnerable, Jim could only feel loved, cherished, desired. He didn't know how to begin to say thank you for that._

_ "Is that Tai food I smell?" Blair said, breaking the kiss._

_ "Maybe."_

_ "How'd you know I was craving that?" he asked, pulling Jim back inside with him._

_ "My Blair Sense must've told me," Jim said with a grin._

_ "Cute."_

_ "You sure are." Jim stole one more kiss and then started pulling take-out boxes from the bags they'd been packed in. Life was good._

*o*o*o*

Jim closed the door and looked around the loft. Boxes were stacked up along one wall, though there weren't that many of them; just another visible sign of how little he'd invested himself in his marriage. Everything that was really important, that meant a lot to him, he'd always kept here. Carolyn had been right when she said he kept part of himself hidden away.

He hung up his coat and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He turned his focus inward for a moment, looking for signs of sadness or anger, but all he found was remorse and a vast well of relief. Which in turn made him feel guilty. He ignored the boxes and stretched out on the couch. It was nice and quiet and he knew it would always be that way until he decided otherwise. He smiled at that thought.

Feeling a lot of the tension drain out of him, Jim took another long swallow of beer and set the bottle on the floor. He didn't know what the future had in store for him, but he was resolved that from now on he'd stop lying to himself. No more doing the right thing without the right feelings behind it. No more denying himself. If that meant a life of solitude, he was ready for it. A part of him felt he wasn't meant for a meaningful relationship; his father hadn't been able to maintain one, so maybe there was a problem at the genetic level for Ellison men.

Jim told himself he didn't care. It was easier, safer being alone. He finished off the beer and then hoisted himself off the couch. Those boxes weren't going to unpack themselves, and while he was at it he may as well clean the whole loft. A little thrill ran through him as he realized that the other benefit of living alone was that he could keep things as neat and orderly as he wanted. His life was his own again. And it was time to get on with it.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> This was supposed to be a straight-up Carolyn/Jim fic, but Blair just couldn't keep from butting in. And I couldn't help but agree that his functional relationship with Jim proved a nice counterpoint to Jim's dysfunctional relationship with Carolyn. I hope you think so too!_


	11. Beautiful Freaks

**Beautiful Freaks**, by Hot Chelle Rae

_All you beautiful freaks  
>Just grab somebody and light the place up<br>Light the place up, yeah  
>If you're a beautiful freak<br>No sleep, light the place up  
>Light the place up, yeah<em>

_Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh_

_Down town spin it around_  
><em>Speakers about to blow out<em>  
><em>Can't keep my feet on the ground (feet on the ground)<em>  
><em>Yeah<em>

_And it's you next to me_  
><em>Livin' super fast, blowin daddy's cash<em>  
><em>Call the cops, close the streets<em>  
><em>Cause this shit's about to burn down<em>

_All you beautiful freaks_  
><em>Just grab somebody and light the place up<em>  
><em>Light the place up, yeah<em>  
><em>If you're a beautiful freak<em>  
><em>No sleep, light the place up<em>  
><em>Light the place up, yeah<em>

_Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh_

_Check, set, goin' hardcore_  
><em>Crash in through back door<em>  
><em>Rich girl gimme some more<em>  
><em>Yeah<em>

_And it's you next to me_  
><em>Living super fast, blowin' daddy's cash<em>  
><em>Call the cops, close the streets<em>  
><em>Cause this shit's about to burn down<em>

_All you beautiful freaks_  
><em>Just grab somebody and light the place up<em>  
><em>Light the place up, yeah<em>  
><em>If you're a beautiful freak<em>  
><em>No sleep, light the place up<em>  
><em>Light the place up, yeah<em>

_Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh_

_So get in where you fit in_  
><em>I'ma keep on grinnin'<em>  
><em>Like a politician up on the stage<em>

_Elixir in the mixer_  
><em>It's a temporary fixture<em>  
><em>When you livin' in this crazy parade<em>

_All you beautiful freaks_  
><em>Just grab somebody and light the place up<em>  
><em>Light the place up, yeah<em>  
><em>If you're a beautiful freak<em>  
><em>No sleep, light the place up<em>  
><em>Light the place up, yeah<em>

_Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh_

_Beautiful freaks_  
><em>Beautiful freaks<em>  
><em>Beautiful freaks<em>  
><em>Beautiful freaks<em>

* * *

><p>Jim and Blair were stopped at a light, on their way home from having dinner out. They'd been celebrating the end of a particularly long and difficult case, and were looking forward to having some free time the next few days. Blair's running monologue on the history of social dining stuttered to a stand-still when Jim cocked his head, listening.<p>

"What do you hear?" Blair whispered, putting his hand on Jim's arm to help him focus.

"Around the corner." Jim flicked on the turn signal and made a right, pulling up in front of a dark building, one of many formerly commercial structures on this street that were empty and in a state of sagging disrepair.

"Should I call it in?" Blair asked, hand hovering over the radio. Jim shook his head.

"No. I don't know what…sounds like a fight." He opened his door and got out of the truck, his hand going automatically for the weapon at his back. "Stay behind me, Chief."

Blair did as he asked, zipping up his coat as he followed. It was April in Cascade, and the nights were still very chilly. Together they eased through the busted front door, Blair grabbing a handful of the back of Jim's coat because it was too dark to see. Inside, the air was musty and redolent with the scent of the homeless squatters who had apparently been living there.

"Dial down smell," Blair murmured, feeling Jim pause just a moment as he did so.

The moved farther into the building and suddenly there was a faint light. They went through another door and into a large, open space. Blair blinked as his eyes adjusted, and he saw the remains of a bar along one side of the room; the light came from candles that were sitting on top of it. Two men were in the back of the room, fists flying as they pounded on each other.

"Cascade PD!" Jim bellowed, bringing his gun up to bear. The men paused, fists raised, and shared a comical look of surprise before taking off in opposite directions. Blair automatically started to give chase, but Jim grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Little fish, Sandburg. Let them go." Jim holstered his gun, then looked around the room, eyes narrowed.

"What is it?" Blair asked. "Is there something else?"

"No. Just…this seems familiar."

"You've probably busted someone here before. Or maybe this was a crime scene?"

"No." Jim wandered over to the bar. It must've been quite handsome once, made of natural oak stained dark, but time and ill use had turned it dull with grime and pitted the surface with gouges.

Blair watched him, intrigued as always when his Sentinel's focus turned inward as he tried to retrieve the information he was looking for. He loved these moments when he could drink in the sight of his friend unabashed, admiring the strong lines of his face and the way his coat hung off his wide shoulders. He thought he'd never get tired of looking at that man, and it was a bittersweet feeling because he wanted to do so much more than just look.

Jim ran one hand just over the surface of the bar, as if not wanting to actually touch it. Then he blinked, and a grin stole across his face.

"I'll be damned."

"What is it?" Blair asked, curious.

"This used to be The Scream." The grin became a full-fledged smile, full of nostalgia. "You'd never know to look at it now."

"What was The Scream?"

"It was a dance club. I used to come here when I was seventeen. Christ, that was a long time ago." Jim wandered back out into the middle of the room. "It wasn't a disco or anything like that. I wasn't into that kind of music. They'd play stuff like AC/DC, Sex Pistols, Zeppelin, that kind of thing."

"You went clubbing?" Blair asked in disbelief. "No way."

"That was my crazy year, Chief. Did worse than clubbing, trust me."

Blair's curiosity grew. It wasn't often his partner talked about his past, and when he did the stories generally weren't the warm and fuzzy variety. He tried to picture a much younger Jim Ellison shaking his booty out on the dance floor and just couldn't do it. He did some math in his head.

"Seventeen. That was what, 1977?" He chuckled. "You were out enjoying the night life, and I was eight years old, sneaking in to see Star Wars about once a day. We were staying with some people in Hoboken that spring."

"Sneaking into the movies, Sandburg?" Jim shook his head in mock disappointment. "You think you know a person."

"Look who's talking," Blair shot back. "How did you even get into a club if you were only seventeen?"

"Ellison money. You have enough of it, you can do pretty much anything." Jim shrugged. "It was just another way to stick it to the old man, really. He wanted me at the Country Club, taking tennis lessons and hanging out with the other bored kids of Cascade's elite. That was Steven's thing, not mine."

"I can almost picture it in my head, you at that age." Blair tapped a finger to his chin. "Bet you were the big man on campus, right? Jock, probably dated a cheerleader. Mr. Popularity."

Actually, he knew it was probably the opposite. Knowing the kind of home life Jim had, Blair imagined he was actually quite shy and reserved, not wanting to call a lot of attention to himself. Not easy with those looks, though his father hadn't given him much to work with in the self-esteem department.

"Not quite, Chief," Jim laughed. "Oh, I was a jock. Loved playing sports. You can probably guess why."

"Because of the clearly defined rules of play," Blair said automatically. "You like having things laid out, knowing what the boundaries are."

Jim favored him with a pleased look, nearly making him blush. Carolyn had called her ex-husband a control freak, but that wasn't exactly true. There had been a lot of upheaval in his life – his senses, his mother leaving when he was still so young, his strained relationship with his father and brother – and being able to tame as much of the chaos as possible is what kept Jim functioning. Particularly considering the spontaneity he needed to have working as a cop, where things could and did change in an instant. Blair had learned that pretty early on in their working relationship, and while he teased Jim about house rules he understood the necessity of it.

"Something like that. I didn't actually have that many friends, until that year. Decided I was going to be a party boy, and once you start flashing money around it's really easy to make new friends." There was no bitterness in Jim's voice, as Blair might have expected. Just resignation.

"Will you tell me about it?" he asked his friend.

*o*o*o*

_Jimmy parked his Dodge Charger down the street, making sure it was under a streetlight. It was a '72, black and shiny, and he loved it. His dad had gotten it for him the year before, saying that Ellison men needed to have their own wheels so they didn't have to go begging for rides. They didn't agree on much else, but Jimmy couldn't help going along with his old man on that one. The fact that it made Stevie, still too young to drive, green with envy was just an extra bonus._

_ Four of his classmates poured out of the car after he did, laughing and jostling each other in excitement. Jimmy had been coming to The Scream for a few weeks now, and this was the first time he'd invited people to come with him. Not friends, really, though that's what they called each other. He knew they were only hanging out with him because his old man had money and Jimmy had access to it. And now he was going to get them into the hottest club in Cascade that wasn't a disco; he hated disco._

_ "You can really get us past the bouncer?" Jenna asked, clinging to his arm. She was a cute little blonde with a page boy haircut and lots of blue eyeshadow. He didn't know how well she'd fit in here, with her pale blue handkerchief dress and strappy white shoes; most of the women at The Scream wore leather or denim. Jimmy himself had on torn black denim jeans and a tight black t-shirt with an anarchy symbol emblazoned on the front. His hair was long, but not hippie long, spiky with gel on top and falling just above the collar of his shirt in the back. A diamond stud glittered in one ear._

_ "Just stick with me," he said confidently. Besides Jenna, he'd invited two of his pals from the high school baseball team, Eric and Rob, and Rob's girlfriend Betty. Jimmy hung out with Eric a lot, even though he was a senior; they were co-captains of both the baseball and football teams, and Eric's dad had taken them to see the Seattle Mariners play their inaugural game on April 6. Jimmy could relax over at Eric's house, where he could watch The Rockford Files and reruns of Banacek without his old man making disparaging remarks._

_ They made their way to the front door and Jimmy nodded at the bouncer, a big ex-wrestler named Hank the Tank._

_ "Ellison. See you have an entourage tonight."_

_ "You know how it is," Jimmy said. He shook hands with Tank, slipping him a hundred bucks. The big man pocketed the bill and nodded towards the door._

_ "Keep your nose clean," he warned._

_ "I'm good," Jimmy promised._

*o*o*o*

"Keep your nose clean?" Blair asked.

Jim looked away, his cheeks flushing. "He…uh…caught me one night doing some blow in the back room."

Blair just gaped at him, his mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. _Blow?_ His by-the-book, straight-up, Boyscout partner had done cocaine? When he was seventeen? "What? How…why would you…why?"

His friend laughed reluctantly. "Don't have a coronary, Sandburg. It's not like I developed a habit or anything. I just did it a couple of times. I liked how it made me feel. Confident, sexy…I can see why people get addicted to it."

"Sorry, I just can't picture you snorting lines in the back room of some club." Blair shook his head. "And I thought I was the one with the free-wheeling lifestyle, man. I never did any of the hard stuff."

"Neither did I, not after Tank hauled me out of there and kicked my ass. Letting me in to drink was one thing, but he didn't approve of the other stuff."

"I suppose I should thank him for that," Blair said dryly. "Drinking and driving is just as bad."

"Yeah, well, you don't think about that stuff when your seventeen and feeling just a bit entitled," Jim said in his own defense. "There would've been hell to pay if my dad had found out about it."

His minor in psych poked at that last comment, though Blair kept it to himself. He was sure that Jim's reckless behavior had been a way to get his father's attention. Getting it for positive accomplishments, like football, hadn't worked. It was possible he'd been operating under the idea that any attention was good, even if it was negative attention. He felt immeasurably sad that his best friend was forced to grow up that way.

*o*o*o*

_Inside the club the music was thumping, Anarchy in the UK blasting from the speakers. Jimmy led the way with confidence, familiar now with how things worked here. It was almost too loud for talking, and that was fine with him. He liked the way he could feel the music through the bottoms of his engineer boots, and how it moved across his skin. It reminded him of something, though he could never quite catch on to that fragment of memory long enough to identify it._

*o*o*o*

"Well, geez, Jim, I bet that reminded you of your senses!" Blair said excitedly. "I mean, you'd repressed all of that by then, but some part of you remembered."

Jim thought about that for a minute, then he nodded. "You're probably right, Chief. Funny thing is, if I did still have my senses I'd never have been able to go in there. It would've been way too much sensory input."

"I can almost understand the drugs, too. Just another way to amplify your normal senses." Blair was again filled with sadness for his friend, particularly since Jim had told him how easy it had been for him to use his heightened senses when he was a kid. To lose something that was a natural part of himself, and not even remember it, was heartbreaking.

*o*o*o*

_Jimmy found them a table, then went over to the bar to procure a White Russian for Jenna and a pitcher of Michelob for the rest of them. He didn't need to show an ID; they assumed Tank filtered out anyone who shouldn't be there, and Jimmy was good at acting older than he was. When he was here he felt like he was someone else and he liked playing the part of the spoiled rich kid. He slipped the bartender an extra large tip._

_ The guys were suitably impressed with the beer and Jenna gave him a big wet kiss in thanks for the drink. The song changed to T.N.T. by AC/DC, but for the moment Jimmy was content to sit and watch the crowd. There were a few people sporting spiky Mohawks, and even more with safety pins stuck in their ears or through their lips. He'd never been particularly fond of that look. His dad had pitched such a fit about the diamond stud, a safety pin would likely send him to the ER._

_ "This place is bangin'," Eric said with a grin. "Check out that chick in the rubber."_

_ "I want to dance," Betty said. She had a pouty way of talking that got on Jimmy's nerves, but Rob didn't seem to mind it. They went out to the dance floor, under the strobe lights, and started bouncing around to the music. Betty was a much better dancer than her boyfriend, but Jimmy gave Rob points for enthusiasm._

_ Eric knocked back his beer and got to his feet. "I'm gonna see if I can get some action."_

_ "Just don't tell anyone you're in high school, or they'll laugh your ass right out of here," Jimmy advised. His friend saluted him and then vanished into the crowd. _

_ Jenna seemed to take that as her cue to get on Jimmy's lap and start making out. Normally he didn't mind; he enjoyed the closeness, the touching, the warm heat of another body pressed against his. But tonight he was feeling restless, without really knowing why, and he just couldn't get into it. Maybe it was just that Jenna was a sloppy kisser._

*o*o*o*

"Even then you were touchy feely," Blair mused. He was leaning back against the bar, which was probably the cleanest surface in the room.

Jim glowered. "I'm _not_ touchy feely."

"Sorry, sorry." Blair held up his hands in apology, but his eye roll ruined the sentiment. It never ceased to amuse him that his friend was so unaware of how much he needed to touch his Guide throughout the course of a regular day. He'd always assumed it was a Sentinel thing, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was just a lonely, touch-deprived Jim thing.

"Sandburg…"

"Forget I mentioned it. So, you weren't getting your jollies with Jenna?"

*o*o*o*

_"I have to take a leak," Jimmy said, deftly transferring Jenna back to her own seat._

_ "Don't be long," she said, batting her eyes. Jimmy just sighed and headed back towards the rest rooms. He figured he could dance with her when he got back, which would give her something to do besides drool all over him._

_ He peed, then washed his hands. He checked himself in the mirror, pleased to see the gel in his hair was holding up nicely. He had a brief moment to wonder if he should maybe cultivate a moustache but decided, as always, that he'd probably look like an actor in a porno if he did that. Or worse, his father._

_ On his way back down the short hall he ran into a man he'd seen at the club a couple of other times he'd been there. He didn't know anything about him, just that he was incredibly good looking. Tall, with a swimmer's build and shaggy black hair hanging in one caramel-colored eye. Tonight he was wearing tight leather pants and a red shirt with slices cut through the front at regular intervals, showing bits of pale flesh beneath._

_ They nodded at each other as Jimmy passed, but this time the guy reached out and put his hand on the far wall, blocking the doorway. "Hey."_

_ "Hey," Jimmy replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "There something you wanted?"_

_ "I've seen you around," the other guy said. He had a whisky voice, deep and warm. "My name's Brett."_

_ "Jimmy."_

_ They studied each other for a minute, and Jimmy's nerves started dancing. Was this guy actually interested in him? He'd been on the receiving end of male attraction a time or two, but this was the first time he actually felt he might be attracted back. _

_ "Buy you a drink?" Brett asked._

_ "I'm here with someone," Jimmy said apologetically._

_ "That frilly thing that was all up in your lap?"_

_ Jimmy just shrugged. Brett looked at him, considering, then nodded. _

_ "Will you wait here?"_

_ "Yeah."_

_ He watched Brett head over to the bar, leaning in close to talk into someone's ear, and then pointing over to the table where Jenna was impatiently waiting for her date to return. The guy at the bar went over, sat down, and started talking to her. Whatever he was saying, it made Jenna brighten right up and start preening._

_ "How about that drink now?" Brett asked when he returned._

_ "Sure."_

*o*o*o*

"Sure? You let him buy you a drink, just like that?" Blair's jaw felt like it had a faulty hinge, the way it kept dropping open. Jim had just admitted that he was attracted to a guy, which was even more unlikely than him snorting coke. Blair thought ruefully that he'd be spending his weekend off meditating so that he could process all this.

"Like I said, Sandburg, it was my crazy year." Jim tried to keep things light, but there was an undercurrent that Blair couldn't ignore. He had to know how much he was revealing about himself, telling this story. And maybe that was the whole point. Maybe this was his way to tell Blair some things he otherwise was unable to say.

"Crazy year. Right. So, he bought you a drink. Then what?"

*o*o*o*

_Jimmy and Brett sat at the bar, each knocking back a shot of scotch. It burned pleasantly down Jimmy's throat; his old man was fond of the stuff and he'd snitched his share of it. He still preferred beer, but William Ellison didn't consider that a worthy beverage to keep around the house._

_ "You go to Rainier?" Brett asked._

_ "Townie," Jimmy replied. It was the truth, and it kept him from having to give his age. "You?"_

_ "Junior. Science major. Swim team."_

_ They had to practically shout to be heard over the old Screamin' Jay Hawkins song pumping out of the speakers._

_ "Nice," Jimmy said with a shrug._

_ "You wanna dance?" Brett asked._

_ Jimmy didn't know what to say, so he popped a handful of peanuts in his mouth. Another guy had just asked him to dance. It filled him with a thrill of the forbidden. And a little voice, what he'd come to call his anti-conscience, cheered at what the thought of his son dancing with another man would do to his father._

_ Trying to act casual, Jimmy nodded. "Sure." _

_ He followed Brett to a more secluded area of the club, where they wouldn't be so easily seen, just as the song switched over to Kashmir. Not sure what to do, he just started dancing. It was something he was pretty good at, and enjoyed doing. Plus he knew how good he looked while he was doing it, because enough girls had told him so. Brett moved in behind him, copying his movements and then settling his hands lightly on Jimmy's hips._

_ A different kind of thrill skimmed along Jimmy's spine, and he moved back ever so slightly to get a bit more contact. He felt less awkward here on the dance floor than he'd felt at the bar, and so he didn't flinch when Brett leaned in to murmur in his ear._

_ "You look so hot."_

_ He flushed at the compliment, and added a bit more sway to his hips. Brett's hands tightened their grip. When Jimmy put his own hands on top of them, Brett spun him around and pulled him in for a kiss. It was his first kiss with a man and the top of his head nearly came off by the time it was over. No kiss with a girl had ever been that amazing, that sexy. That forbidden. It was so good, he pulled Brett's head in for more and pressed against him, feeling the heat bleed through his clothes and into his skin. This high sure beat the hell out of anything he could snort up his nose._

*o*o*o*

"Holy shit," Blair breathed. "I don't believe this. Did you…I mean, were you…?"

"No, and no." Jim's eyes were still clouded with remembrance. "We made out, and it was probably the hottest thing I ever did. I went back to The Scream once more after that, and we hooked up again. But we never had sex, never met up with each other after that last time."

"Did your dad find out?"

"Of course he did. Steven heard it from someone who'd seen me, and he told Dad. Lost my car. Probably lucky I didn't lose my life." Jim sighed. "I always had fond memories of this place."

Blair rubbed a hand over his face. Jim. Making out with another guy. It felt like his whole world had tilted on its axis and he was trying to hold on as all his preconceived notions dropped away.

"Was he the only one?" he heard himself ask.

Jim shrugged. "There were the occasional…encounters, when I worked in Vice. Just women since then."

Now it was Blair's turn to sound wistful. "Man, I wish I could've known you back then. I didn't know you liked to dance."

"Haven't done it in a long time," Jim said. He looked suddenly shy as he held his hand out. "Dance with me?"

Blair stared stupidly at the hand. "What?"

"Dance with me."

He looked into Jim's eyes, to see if he was trying to be funny, but saw only anxiety and a hopefulness that made his chest tighten. He put his hand in Jim's and the smile he got in return was tentative but more beautiful because of it. Blair was pulled in close to Jim's chest, and wrapped in his friend's strong arms. The bigger man began to hum, moving them in time to the music he was making. Blair didn't recognize the tune, but it hardly mattered. Jim moved him slowly around what used to be the dance floor and was now just sagging boards littered with leaves, food wrappers and scraps of filthy clothing. But Blair didn't see the room; all he saw was Jim.

"He was right. You do look hot."

Jim grinned down at him, his blue eyes dark from the dim light, or his growing desire, or both. Blair didn't much care. He rested his head on his friend's chest, feeling the vibration of the humming.

"How about you, Chief?" Jim asked after a while. "You ever…you know. Been with a guy?"

"A couple, back in college. I like to keep my options open, you know?"

"I can dig it," Jim said with a laugh.

Blair tilted his head back to look at his friend, feeling a warm glow spreading through him at the love he saw reflected back at him. It left him a bit breathless and he closed his eyes, committing that look to memory. Just in case the magic swirling around them dissipated once they stepped back outside.

"Blair?" Jim asked hesitantly.

Blair opened his eyes, just in time to see his friend's mouth moving toward his own. Their first kiss was soft and sweet, full of promises, and he never wanted it to end. This whole night had taken on a golden glow and he was half afraid it was all just a dream.

"Wow," he said when Jim finally broke the kiss, panting lightly.

"Yeah," Jim agreed. He rested his forehead against Blair's, one hand moving up his back to twine into his curls. "Is this okay?"

"No. It's _amazing_." Blair rubbed his cheek against Jim's. "Thank you, for sharing your story with me."

"I want to share everything with you," Jim whispered.

Blair hugged him tightly, burying his face in his friend's neck. "God, I want that too. You have no idea."

"Home?"

"Home."

Jim blew out the candles and took Blair's hand in his, guiding him back out of the decrepit building and onto the sidewalk. They climbed up into the truck and Jim pointed it toward the loft. As they drove away, Blair sent up a silent thank you to the two fighting men that had drawn Jim back to this place, and whatever force had allowed him to open up and share so much of himself. It was a rare night and he'd never been happier to have a weekend off in all his life.

"So, did you see Star Wars when it first came out?" he asked, reaching over to grab Jim's hand.

Jim flashed him a quick grin. "Hell no. I did see Smokey and the Bandit, though."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that seems like the perfect macho male movie to interest you."

"How many times _did_ you sneak in to see Star Wars, Sandburg?"

"I'm pretty sure the statute of limitations has run out on that, Jim."

"We'll see," Jim said. His tone was stern, but he tugged on Blair's hand until he could get it up to his lips for a kiss.

Blair sighed. "God bless the seventies."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> Inspiration for this fic hit when I was listening to this song and I wrote the whole thing out the same day. It was fun popping back to the seventies and imagining Jim's life at that time. Couldn't see him going the disco route, so I punked him up a bit._

_I've never been totally clear on the age difference between Blair and Jim. I know that according to canon, Blair was born in 1969. In this fic there are nine years separating them. If anyone has more info on that, I'd love to know it!_

_As always, thanks for the read and I hope you review and let me know how I'm doing!_


	12. Woman Like You

**A Woman Like You**, by Lee Brice

_Last night, outta the blue  
>Driftin' off to the evening news<br>You said "Honey, what would you do If you'd never met me"  
>I just laughed, said "I don't know,<br>But I could take a couple guesses though"  
>And then tried to dig real deep,<em>

_Said, "Darling honestly..._  
><em>I'd do a lot more offshore fishin'<em>  
><em>I'd probably eat more drive-thru chicken<em>  
><em>Take a few strokes off my golf game<em>  
><em>If I'd have never known your name<em>  
><em>I'd still be driving that old green 'Nova<em>  
><em>I probably never would have heard of yoga<em>  
><em>Be a better football fan<em>  
><em>But if I was a single man<em>  
><em>Alone and out there on the loose<em>  
><em>Well I'd be looking for a woman like you."<em>

_I could tell that got her attention_  
><em>So I said, "Oh yeah, I forgot to mention,<em>  
><em>I wouldn't trade a single day<em>  
><em>For 400 years the other way."<em>  
><em>She just smiled and rolled her eyes,<em>  
><em>Cause she's heard all of my lies<em>  
><em>I said, "C'mon on girl, seriously If I hadn't been so lucky<em>  
><em>I'd be shootin' pool in my bachelor pad<em>  
><em>Playing bass in my cover band<em>

_Restocking up cold Bud Light_  
><em>Play poker every Tuesday night,<em>  
><em>yeah, I'd have a dirt bike in the shed<em>  
><em>And not one throw pillow on the bed<em>  
><em>I'd keep my cash in a coffee can<em>  
><em>But if I was a single man<em>  
><em>Alone and out there on the loose<em>  
><em>Well I'd be looking for a woman like you."<em>  
><em>She knows what a mess I'd be if I didn't have her here<em>  
><em>But to be sure, I whispered in her ear<em>

_"You know I get sick deep-sea fishin'_  
><em>And you make the best fried chicken<em>  
><em>I got a hopeless golf game<em>  
><em>I love the sound of your name<em>  
><em>I might miss that old green 'Nova<em>  
><em>But I love watchin' you do yoga<em>  
><em>I'd take a gold band on my hand<em>  
><em>Over being a single man<em>  
><em>Cause honestly I don't know what I'd do<em>  
><em>If I'd never met a woman like you."<em>

* * *

><p>Jim dropped down in the bed with a deep sigh. It had been a long, grueling week and he could think of nothing but sleep. They'd finally closed the Calpert case, and Simon had given them the next day off. Jim thought he might just spend it in bed; he felt like he could sleep for a year.<p>

"Oh, man, even my eyelashes are exhausted." Blair came up the stairs, stripping off his clothes and leaving them where they fell. When he was down to his boxers he crawled into bed, pulling the blankets up to his chin. "I don't think we've slept in the last forty-eight hours."

"Sure feels that way," Jim agreed. He spooned up next to Blair, breathing in his unique scent and relaxing almost immediately.

"I'm calling Simon tomorrow and telling him I'll be out for the next week. I'm not getting out of this bed till then."

"Mmmhmm," Jim mumbled, nosing into his partner's curls. He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, and wasn't motivated even to try.

There was a long stretch of silence, and Jim was teetering on the edge of oblivion when Blair spoke again.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Can't it wait, Chief?" Jim muttered.

"Yeah. Sorry."

More silence, and Jim felt himself melting into the mattress. Everything was perfect – the pillow was just fluffy enough, the blanket was over his waist but under his arms the way he liked it, and his lover was a warm weight against his chest. He could feel himself drifting away, cozy and secure.

"It's just, I was wondering," Blair said.

Jim sighed and rolled onto his back. "I thought your eyelashes were tired," he complained.

"They are. I am. I just…I was wondering about something today and this is the first chance we've had to talk."

Jim raised himself on one elbow and looked down at Blair, who was still lying on his side. "You know I love listening to you talk, but I'm tired. Rip Van Winkle tired."

Blair rolled over and blinked up at Jim, his blue eyes sparkling. "I know. Me too. Just…"

"Just what? Spit it out already." Jim flopped back down in defeat.

"Do you ever wonder what you'd be doing if you hadn't met me?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "Are you serious?"

Still keeping under the blankets, Blair crawled on top of him, straddling his waist. "Yes, I'm serious. Haven't you ever thought about it?"

"No. Why would I? We did meet. End of story."

"But if we hadn't," Blair insisted. "What would you be doing?"

Jim sighed. "I'd be institutionalized. Or dead."

"What kind of answer is that?" Blair said, aghast. "You would not!"

"Sure I would. Why the hell do you think I was at the hospital? My senses were going crazy, Chief, and it was keeping me from doing my job. The only reason I got a handle on them was because of you. And you didn't just help me get a grip on them, you helped me refine them. Hone them. I never could have done that on my own."

Blair leaned over and kissed him. "That's sweet. But I think they would've evened out on their own, eventually."

"Before or after I got run down by a car, or shot by someone I was chasing because I zoned out?"

"Come on, man. Do you really think that would've happened?"

"Yeah. I do. Or did you forget about that garbage truck already?"

Blair shuddered. "Nope. Never forgetting that. Okay, maybe you have a point. That's a lot to put on one person, though."

Jim shrugged. "Probably. But it's the truth."

"Well, okay. What if the senses weren't an issue. What about then?"

"Do I have them in this scenario, or am I just normal?"

Blair punched him in the shoulder. "You _are_ normal, Jim. Okay, if you didn't have the senses?"

"Dead."

"You've got to be kidding me." Blair shook his head. "How would you be dead without the senses?"

"Sunrise Patriots. The senses helped me get in the building and avoid the guards and the traps. If I'd tried that without them, I'd never have made it. Or I'd have been delayed too long and unable to stop Kincaid. And if I'd just stayed outside and waited, Joel and a lot of other people would be dead instead."

Now Blair looked thoughtful, biting at his bottom lip. Jim ran his hands up and down his partner's back, waiting. It was strange to think about what might have been, particularly when it all seemed to point to the same thing. No life without Blair. It should have made him angry, that so much depended on just one person, but all he could feel was grateful.

"Okay, that totally sucks man. But I see what you're saying. Okay, if you had your senses and they were all under control. What would you be doing?"

It's was Jim's turn to be thoughtful. He thought back to what his life was like pre-Sandburg and tried to factor in the senses with the control he had now.

"I'd have a different partner," he said finally. "Simon had been threatening me with one for a while, and he had a point. It's not safe to run solo at crime scenes. My closure rate probably wouldn't be quite as good. You bring a lot to the table, Chief. Some of those cases would have been unsolvable without you."

"Hey, thanks!" Blair rewarded him with a kiss on his forehead, then leaned back and waited.

"I'd probably still be single. I'd been chasing around after Carolyn for a while, trying to get her to go out with me. I guess because I was comfortable with her. We had a shared history, you know? But the only time she ever said yes was to check up on me when my senses were going crazy."

"You guys went out?" Blair asked, curious. "When?"

"It was a day or two before I met you, Chief. We went out to dinner and I couldn't eat my meal because taste was all out of whack. I yelled at the waiter and everything. Too much paprika."

"So you'd be sad and lonely?" Blair teased. Jim reached up and captured his face between his hands, pulling him down for a much longer, deeper kiss.

"Yes," he said, voice serious. "I would be. Because only you ever took the time to get to know me, to care about what happened to me. You know more about me than anyone else ever did or ever will. So if I'd never met you, I think I'd be looking for you just the same."

"Wow," Blair whispered.

"And," Jim added. "I'd probably be able to eat Wonderburger without having to hear an ingredient list every single time. I'd never get lost going fishing. I could go to a Jags game without learning the history of organized sports. I could go right to sleep without having to think about stuff like this."

"Hey, wait just a…"

"And I'd never know how satisfying it is to come home after a long day and share a meal with my best friend. Or the absolute terror that comes when he gets kidnapped or shot or beat up."

"You would have to mention that," Blair muttered.

"Look, all I'm saying is that I got the whole Sandburg package. And it's not always rose petals and champagne, but I wouldn't change it either. I don't want to wonder how different my life would be without you, Blair. There is no life for me without you."

"Who knew you were such a softy," Blair said, his voice choked with emotion.

"You did," Jim replied.

"Yeah, I guess I did. Thanks, Jim."

"You're welcome. Can I go to sleep now?"

"Oh, sure. Yeah, of course!" Blair got back on his side of the bed and Jim spooned up to him again, holding him a bit more tightly this time.

"I love you, you know," he whispered in his lover's ear.

"You better."

Jim got comfortable. He didn't begrudge Blair's need for affirmation of their relationship; it made him feel better too. He drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face. This was the only life he needed.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> My husband gave me this song, and said he envisioned Jim and Blair in bed having a similar conversation. Which is so funny because he takes a very dim view of slash fics. But here you go, honey. Your slashy idea! Thanks for the inspiration!_

_Any resemblance between Blair talking in bed after claiming exhaustion and me keeping my hubby up with inane conversations is purely coincidental. ::winks::_


	13. Airplane

**Airplane**, by Indigo Girls

_Up on the airplane  
>Nearer, my God, to Thee<br>I start making a deal  
>inspired by gravity<br>[inspired by gravity]_

_If I did wrong I won't do it again_  
><em>Cause I can be sweet and good and nice<em>  
><em>And if I had enemies, they're friends<em>  
><em>I hold on to my life with the grip of a vice<em>

_And I'm up the airplane_  
><em>[up on the airplane]<em>  
><em>Nearer, my God, to Thee<em>  
><em>[nearer my god]<em>  
><em>I start making a deal<em>  
><em>inspired by gravity<em>  
><em>[inspired by gravity]<em>

_That little spot on the ground_  
><em>is my home town<em>  
><em>Like to call it my home and it's sweet<em>  
><em>I'd rather take a seat down there<em>  
><em>than a throne up here<em>  
><em>Up above 30,000 feet<em>  
><em>And I'm up on the airplane<em>

_I never should've read my horoscope_  
><em>Or the fortune on a bubblegum strip<em>  
><em>Saying, "what you think won't happen will"<em>  
><em>Great thing to read before a trip<em>  
><em>On an airplane<em>

_Thought says the_  
><em>big blue sky's like a swimming pool<em>  
><em>Big fluffy cloud's like a feather bed<em>  
><em>But I'd rather have a real pillow<em>  
><em>underneath my head<em>  
><em>Lying in my bed<em>  
><em>which is in my hometown<em>  
><em>which is on the ground<em>

_Far from an airplane_  
><em>[My bed, my hometown]<em>  
><em>Far from an airplane<em>  
><em>[on the ground. My bed, my hometown,]<em>  
><em>Far from an airplane<em>  
><em>[on the ground. My bed, my hometown,]<em>  
><em>On the airplane<em>  
><em>[on the ground]<em>  
><em>[I'll be making a deal]<em>  
><em>I'm up on the airplane<em>  
><em>[on the ground]<em>  
><em>[I'll be making a deal]<em>  
><em>On the airplane<em>  
><em>[I'll be making a deal]<em>  
><em>[I'll be making a deal]<em>  
><em>[I'll be making a deal]<em>

* * *

><p>Blair tried to get comfortable in the middle seat. He preferred the aisle, because it was fractionally less claustrophobic, but it was occupied by an older man in a three piece suit. The window seat, which he was always happy to avoid, was taken by a young dark-skinned woman dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. He hated feeling hemmed in.<p>

The stewardess began her spiel at the front of the plane. Thanks for choosing Alaska Airlines, blah blah blah. Blair listened very carefully when she got to the safety procedures, though, watching the seat belt and oxygen mask demonstrations with a keen eye. He wasn't fond of flying, though he had to admit the big jets made him feel safer than helicopters or that creaky cargo plane he jumped out of in Peru. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to jump out of another plane, ever.

When the safety speech was over, Blair tucked the laminated booklet back in the seat pocket and double checked his seat belt. He thought a shoulder strap should be standard, like in a car, and then remembered they were supposed to bend over in case of a crash. How was that helpful? It always seemed like a futile, kiss-your-ass-goodbye gesture.

"Where you headed?" he asked the woman.

"Juneau," she replied, not looking up from the magazine she was reading.

"That's cool. I'm going home. That's Cascade. I was out here for an anthropology convention. I'm an anthropologist." A week in Helena, Montana. In November. He wouldn't have gone, except that he'd been asked to speak about his role as a consultant for the police department and even Simon thought that was worthwhile.

"Yeah, it was a pretty quiet convention. We all just sat around observing each other." He chuckled, but the woman just looked at him with a blank expression. "Uh, that was a joke."

Okay, so clearly she wasn't interested in conversation. Blair turned towards his other seat mate as the plane started moving into position for takeoff.

"Actually, it was a really good convention. There's a whole new focus on field work in the United States, which makes sense when you think about all the divergent groups and sub-groups we have here. I mean, they're just as important as the tribes in New Guinea, right?"

The Suit seemed at least marginally interested. "You a teacher or something?"

"I'm working on my doctorate, so technically I'm a grad student. But I'm also a Professor, so yeah, I teach a few classes. Keeps me busy. Plus I do consult work with the Cascade Police Department. Doesn't leave me a lot of free time, you know? So this has been a vacation for me, really, and so much more low key than my usual vacations."

The engines roared as the plane sped down the runway and Blair closed his eyes. He hated this part, only slightly less than he hated landing. He kept telling himself that in less than two hours he'd be back on terra firma again. When the plane was airborne, and his heart wasn't trying to punch its way out of his chest anymore, he opened his eyes to see the Suit looking at him with sympathy.

"Afraid to fly?"

"More like afraid to crash. But I suppose that's part and parcel of aviatophobia. What goes up must come down, right? I try to keep positive thoughts, man. Of course, you can add claustrophobia and acrophobia to the list. If this convention hadn't been so far from home I would've driven." Blair tapped his fingers on his knees. "Did you know that according to some studies, women are actually more inclined to fear flying? It's the loss of control that gets the men, having someone else responsible for their safety in such a big way."

And that was certainly a topic he could discuss at length. No one person epitomized the need for control better than Jim Ellison, super cop and Sentinel. He needed to be in control of everything from leftovers to the exact placement of the living room furniture. He hated having things moved around, though why Blair felt compelled to do it anyway he couldn't say. It's not like he didn't understand Jim's need to contain the chaos, since he normally faced that every day on the job. As always, Blair resolved to do better. Sometimes he could be a lousy roommate.

"Is it dangerous, working with the cops?" the Suit asked.

Blair laughed. "Dangerous? Man, you have no idea! My first day on the job – I hadn't even filled out the _paperwork_ yet – this crazy militia group comes in and takes over the whole station. I mean, it was crazy! I managed to stay out of their way for a while, but they caught me. Prime hostage, too, thanks to my big mouth. It all worked out in the end, obviously, but there've been a lot of days when I wonder what the heck I'm doing there, you know?"

The Suit looked impressed. "So how does the anthropology fit in?"

The beverage cart stopped just then and Blair got himself a bottle of water, taking a healthy swallow as soon as he twisted the cap off. The Suit got a Coke but the woman didn't want anything; she was definitely giving off a leave-me-alone vibe.

"Anthropology?" he said, picking up where he left off. "It comes in handy. Let's me see patterns of behavior that the cops might overlook. Last year we worked this case with rival street gangs, right? A study I'd done on tribal warriors and dominance displays helped predict an escalation in retaliatory violence that the cops were able to stop before it got out of control."

"So you get right in the middle of things, it sounds like." The Suit sipped at his soda. "Sounds a lot more fun than board meetings and statistical analysis."

"It's never boring, I'll tell you that. I'm based out of Major Crimes and unfortunately there's plenty of that happening in the city. That's what makes the role of law enforcement so vital, particularly in such an urban area. In fact, that's what I'm doing my dissertation on – closed societies in law enforcement. It's fascinating stuff."

The plane shuddered and Blair grabbed hold of the arm rests, eyes wide.

"Hey, relax buddy," his seat mate said. "It's just turbulence."

"Yeah, sure," Blair muttered in reply. Just some warm air mixing with cold air, no big deal. Or maybe some very vital screw somewhere was working its way loose and in another few minutes a chunk of the plane would be gone. _Please let me just get home. I'll do anything you want, as long as I can just get home. I'll stay in the truck. I won't dodge my chores. I'll help old ladies cross the street. _He had no idea who he was offering those promises to.

"You know, there isn't a handy god to pray to about this. Well, except the Big Guy, I suppose. As far as the ancient gods go, there wasn't one in charge of flight because people didn't fly back then. Although I suppose I could ask a favor of Hermes; among other things he was the Greek god of travel. Winged sandals and all that. There's Saint Christopher, too, watching over travelers. In Spanish they say 'Si en San Cristóbal confías, de accidente no morirás', which roughly translates to 'If you trust St. Christopher, you won't die in an accident.' Which is all well and good for the Christians, but what's a Jewish boy to do?"

The plane shook again, more violently this time, and the seat belt sign flashed on. The PA system dinged, which did not fill Blair with confidence.

_Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Miles. There's a storm ahead, which is why we're experiencing turbulence. Please remain seated, with your seat belt fastened. We should be through this shortly and back to calmer skies. Thank you._

A storm? Well, that was perfect. He had a sudden vision of that William Shatner episode of The Twilight Zone, where he saw a monster out his window chewing on the wing of the plane. There'd been a storm then, too. Nightmare at 20,000 Feet, that was the name of it. He wondered if he could get the woman to close the window shade.

_Relax Sandburg_, he heard Jim say in his head. _Just breathe._

Okay, he could do that. Deep breath in, exhale, repeat. Just like meditating, without the candles, the lotus position, or the quiet confines of the loft. Boy, did he miss the loft. It had surprised him, really, hitting him on his second day in Helena. Homesick for the first time in his life, so much so that he'd called Jim just to chat. His Sentinel must have heard something in the tone of his voice, because he'd encouraged Blair to call every night. That had really helped. Well, with one of his problems anyway. It only exacerbated the other.

"Do you think it's a mistake to fall for your best friend?" he asked the Suit. "I mean, what if you act on it and then it all falls apart? Then you lose a lover _and_ a best friend. Are the benefits worth the risk?"

"Not in my experience," the Suit replied with a sigh. The woman next to the window took a sudden interest, though.

"Of course it is. Nothing worthwhile in life comes easy. You have to fight for what you want."

Blair nodded. "I hear you. It's just such a big step, you know? And what if the feelings are one-sided? I'm not sure I could handle that kind of rejection."

The plane shimmied and so did his stomach. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't need one of those airsick bags.

"I like that saying, 'it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,'" the woman said. "You have to live life full out, or else what's the point?"

"That's, um…" Blair scanned his internal files. "Tennyson, right? You know, a lot of his work had serious homoerotic subtext. One of my friends in the English department insists he was bisexual – he was married and reportedly devoted to his wife, but he wrote this long, loving poem as a memorial to a close male friend of his."

The woman just stared at him. "I don't know anything about that, I'm just saying you should let your friend know how you feel."

"Be ready to have the door slammed in your face," the Suit muttered.

"Bad experience?" Blair asked sympathetically. "I know how you feel, man. I was seeing this great girl, we really clicked you know? But her dad was running guns and I was supposed to be getting dirt on him for the cops…as you can imagine it blew up in my face. Big time. It's made me gun shy, I guess. At least about the really important stuff."

"Did your friend help you through that?" the woman asked.

"Well, yeah. I mean, he tried. He knew how hurt I was by how it all ended." Crying in his room like a kid. It wasn't a pleasant memory.

"Then…um…he'll be sure to let you down easy if the feeling isn't mutual."

"I guess." Honestly, he had no idea how Jim would react to a declaration of love from his male roommate. Horror? Anger? Disappointment? The negatives outweighed the positives by a pretty high margin. Still, wasn't it lying if he _didn't_ say something? False pretenses? He knew how much Jim valued honesty.

"God, I need a Jack Daniels," the Suit said morosely.

"Hey, did you know the first written record of whisky was in the early 1400s? The Irish, of course. I was in Galway once, and…"

*o*o*o*

Despite the turbulence, Blair's flight got into Cascade International Airport a full ten minutes early. His throat was dry from talking so much, but he wished his two traveling companions well as they disembarked and headed up the jet way.

As he came through the security checkpoint, Blair could see Jim waiting for him and couldn't help but smile. It was so nice to be home, even if home was one of the most dangerous cities in the US. It was even better when Jim smiled back, looking genuinely happy to see him.

"Hey, Chief. Welcome back."

"Oh, man, you have no idea! We hit turbulence early on and that plane rocked and rolled almost the whole way here." Blair gestured wildly with his hands as they headed down to baggage claim. "I was worried I'd lose my lunch."

"Glad you survived your ordeal," Jim replied dryly.

"Yeah. You missed me, huh?"

"Just when it was your turn to cook, Sandburg."

"If it's my turn tonight, you can just forget it. I'm about done in." Blair dropped his backpack at his feet and leaned against a support post while they waited for the baggage carousel to start up.

"I figured we could pick up a pizza on the way home," Jim said. "That sound okay?"

"Sounds like heaven. Hey, we don't have anything to do tomorrow, do we? I'm totally sleep deprived."

"Too many wild anthropology parties?" Jim teased.

"Something like that. Hey, how long does it take a team of anthropologists to screw in a light bulb?"

Jim looked at him expectantly and Blair grinned.

"Twenty seconds. Then three years to complete field notes about it and ten years to publish the findings."

"Cute, Sandburg." But Jim chuckled, a sure sign he'd been hanging out with Blair too long, and then the luggage started coming around. He grabbed Blair's suitcase when it came through and then led the way to short term parking.

It was only a little after six, but already it was dark outside. There was a chill in the air that hinted at snow, which had Blair already dreading winter. He wondered again why he insisted on living in the Pacific Northwest, but one glance at the man walking beside him answered that question.

Just before they got to the truck Jim threw his arm around Blair's shoulders and gave him a quick squeeze. "Wasn't the same without you, Chief."

Blair didn't bother hiding the look of surprised delight on his face, and he thought about Tennyson.

_I hold it true, whate'er befall;  
><em>_I feel it when I sorrow most;  
><em>'_Tis better to have loved and lost  
><em>_Than never to have loved at all._

Jim tossed the suitcase in the truck, then turned back to look at Blair. "Ready to go home?"

"Sure am." Blair pushed up on his toes and pressed a quick kiss to Jim's lips. "I missed you too."

He hurried around the side of the truck and climbed into the passenger seat, heart pounding. Jesus, he must be crazy. What the hell did he just do? He took it as a good sign that Jim didn't toss him back out into the parking garage; instead he got in and started up the engine. The sickly yellow glow from the garage lights in no way diminished the shy smile that tugged at Jim's lips when he stole a quick glance at Blair.

"What kind of pizza do you want?" he asked.

"Half veggie, half meat lovers?" Blair suggested. It was their usual, though he always tried to get Jim to ditch all that fatty meat.

"Sounds good to me," Jim agreed. He put the truck in gear and headed for the exit, the money to pay the parking fee already out and easily accessible.

"Maybe some wings?"

"Why not?" Blair didn't care what kind of crap Jim wanted to eat, at least not tonight. He'd worry about it tomorrow.

When they cleared the gate and were finally headed towards home, Jim reached out and took Blair's hand in his. And didn't let go until they got to the pizza place.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> Heard this song the other day and just had this image in my head of Blair all nervous and talking endlessly to his seatmates to distract himself. And we all know that boy can talk! LOL! Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this little piece of fluffy fluff. ::grins::_


	14. Paradise

**Paradise**, by Coldplay

_Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo.  
>Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo.<em>

_When she was just a girl,_  
><em>She expected the world,<em>  
><em>But it flew away from her reach,<em>  
><em>So she ran away in her sleep.<em>

_And dreamed of para-para-paradise,_  
><em>Para-para-paradise,<em>  
><em>Para-para-paradise,<em>  
><em>Every time she closed her eyes.<em>

_Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo._  
><em>Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo.<em>

_When she was just a girl,_  
><em>She expected the world,<em>  
><em>But it flew away from her reach,<em>  
><em>And bullets catching her teeth.<em>

_Life goes on,_  
><em>It gets so heavy,<em>  
><em>The wheel breaks the butterfly.<em>  
><em>Every tear, a waterfall.<em>  
><em>In the night, the stormy night,<em>  
><em>She closed her eyes.<em>  
><em>In the night, the stormy night,<em>  
><em>Away she flied.<em>

_And dream of para-para-paradise,_  
><em>Para-para-paradise,<em>  
><em>Para-para-paradise,<em>  
><em>Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh.<em>

_She dreamed of para-para-paradise,_  
><em>Para-para-paradise,<em>  
><em>Para-para-paradise,<em>  
><em>Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh.<em>

_La-la_  
><em>La-la-la-la-la<em>  
><em>La-la-la-la-la<em>  
><em>La-la-la-la.<em>

_So lying underneath the stormy skies._  
><em>She said oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh.<em>  
><em>I know the sun's set to rise.<em>

_This could be para-para-paradise,_  
><em>Para-para-paradise,<em>  
><em>Could be para-para-paradise,<em>  
><em>Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh.<em>

_This could be para-para-paradise,_  
><em>Para-para-paradise,<em>  
><em>Could be para-para-paradise,<em>  
><em>Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh.<em>

_(Oh, oh. Oo-oo-oo-oo-oo.)_

_This could be para-para-paradise,_  
><em>Para-para-paradise,<em>  
><em>Para-para-paradise,<em>  
><em>Whoa-oh-oh oh-oooh oh-oh-oh.<em>

_Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-ooo, oo-oo-oo_  
><em>Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-ooo, oo-oo-oo<em>  
><em>Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-ooo, oo-oo-oo<em>  
><em>Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-ooo...<em>

* * *

><p><strong>1959 – Seven years old<strong>

Naomi lay curled up on the couch, sniffling miserably. It was her birthday and it was ruined. Father had to work late at the firm and Mother had spent the whole party in the kitchen with her friends, drinking grown-up juice. Only Ms. Judith stayed to make sure the other girls behaved themselves and to serve the cake and punch. Naomi hadn't wanted to open any of her presents, and that mean Kelly James had called her a spoiled brat baby. Naomi had decked her and that was pretty much the end of the party.

If that wasn't bad enough, now Mother said she couldn't go and see Sleeping Beauty like she'd been planning on for weeks. It was so unfair. Mother had left with her friends to play tennis at the club, and now Naomi was stuck at home watching Ms. Judith clean up what was left of the party.

"Such _mishegoss_," the older woman said, shaking her head. "What goes through your head?"

"I'm not spoiled," Naomi muttered darkly.

Ms. Judith sat next to her on the couch and straightened the skirt of her light gray uniform. "Why do you care what that little _pisher_ says, Cookie?"

Naomi shrugged. "I'm not spoiled."

Ms. Judith reached out to smooth her auburn hair, the carefully crafted curls in wild disarray. Naomi leaned into the touch and sniffled again. Nobody really understood, especially not stupid Kelly James. Her parents should have at least wanted to spend her birthday with her. That's what parents were supposed to do. Not for the first time, she wished she could have a television family like Ozzie and Harriet or Father Knows Best.

"Tell you what, Cookie. You change out of those party clothes and I'll take you to the park. We'll find you a nice _shiksa_ to play with."

"I don't feel like playing," Naomi said stubbornly. "Besides, it's too cold out."

Ms. Judith sighed. "And I should know what you want? I can't read minds."

"Will you play Yahtzee with me?"

"Okay, Cookie. We can play while I make your special dinner."

Sadness momentarily forgotten, Naomi ran to her room to change and grab her game. Just for her birthday, Ms. Judith was making tongue. If her parents were home they'd never approve of such a low class meal and so that was the one bright spot of the day. She left her pink party dress in a heap on the floor and changed into pedal-pushers and a short-sleeved sweater.

While the tongue boiled away on the stove, Naomi and Ms. Judith played Yahtzee and listened to the radio. It wasn't the birthday she'd wanted, but it turned out pretty well just the same.

**1965 – Thirteen**

Naomi sat cross-legged in front of the television, watching news coverage of a protest against the Vietnam War. Even if she wasn't trying to aggravate her father she'd still agree with people who said the war was wrong. Her friend Susie's older brother had died over there. It was horrible and sad and Naomi was never happier to be an only child; poor Susie was a mess.

"Bunch of commies," Father commented from the couch, his face pinched with distaste.

"They aren't commies, Father," Naomi said. "The war is wrong. Do you know how many kids in my school have lost someone over there?"

"The fight for democracy and decency is never wrong, Naomi. Is that long-haired English teacher of yours putting ideas in your head?"

"Mr. Miles says…"

"I don't want to hear what he has to say," Father said sharply. "Have you finished your homework?"

"Yes." Naomi propped her chin in her hand and sighed. She just knew he wouldn't let her watch Hullabaloo tonight, and The Animals were supposed to be on. Her parents didn't like any music made after 1945, or at least it seemed that way. They certainly didn't think much of Elvis or The Beatles; she had to save her own money to buy the records, and she couldn't play them when her parents were home.

She wished she could do something important, like those colored people who marched on Selma. They were fighting for something. Naomi supposed she could march on Old Saybrook and fight for her right to have an opinion in her own house. Her parents never listened to a thing she had to say or took an interest in anything she did. Not the important stuff, anyway. The only issue they cared about was keeping the Jews out of the country club.

"Naomi, darling, have you picked out a dress for the Spring Formal?" Mother sat on the couch, leaving a wide space between herself and her husband. She was already on her fourth cocktail.

"I'm not going, Mother."

"Of course you are, darling. We've reserved a table for you at the club. Milton St. John is escorting you. Lovely boy. He's in the debate club, you know."

Naomi rolled her eyes. She was tired of hearing about Milton and how wonderful he was. And she resented her mother for setting the whole thing up, never once asking if she wanted to go.

"I'm not going," she repeated. "Milton St. John is a skuzz."

Father slapped the back of her head. "You watch your mouth, young lady!"

Naomi rubbed her head and clamped her lips together before she said something that would really get her in the doghouse. Girls were meant to be seen and not heard, at least according to Father. As if girls didn't have anything worth saying.

"I'm still not going," she muttered after a few minutes.

"Ungrateful child," Mother said disapprovingly. "Go to your room."

"Fine." Naomi stomped off, and slammed the door once she got to her room. She dropped down on the bed and stared up at the plain white ceiling. She couldn't wait until she was old enough to leave this house, and get away from all her father's stupid rules and her mother's ridiculous expectations.

She thought maybe she'd join the Peace Corps, or go to art school in Paris. Somewhere out there her paradise was waiting, her perfect world where she would always be happy. Someday she'd have a family just like on The Donna Reed Show. Someday she'd matter to someone.

There was a tentative knock at her door and she allowed herself a small smile. "Come in."

Ms. Judith poked her head in the room. "You okay, Cookie?"

"No. I don't care what Mother says, I'm not going to the dance with Milton."

"That boy is a _schmuck_. You stick to your guns."

Naomi sat up on her bed, grinning for real now. "Do you think I should join the Peace Corps, Ms. Judith?"

The housekeeper sat down on the edge of the bed. "You can do whatever you put your mind to."

"Maybe I'll go on tour with the Stones," Naomi said with a laugh. "Or move to Hollywood to be an actress like Natalie Wood."

"You're much prettier than Natalie Wood," Ms. Judith said, patting Naomi on the shoulder. "What a thrill that would be, to see your name on the billboard big as life. Naomi Trent, movie star."

"I'm gonna do everything, Ms. Judith. You just wait and see."

"I know you are, Cookie."

Naomi gave her a hug. "What would I do without you?"

**1968 – Sixteen**

Naomi had done a lot to get her parent's attention, things a nice girl from a well-to-do family wasn't supposed to do. She smoked, she drank, she hung out with the greasers and pot heads at school. She dressed like a hippy. Any event that came up to protest, she protested – the war in Vietnam, the gross over-indulgence of corporate America, racial segregation, deforestation. She'd even been arrested once at a rally at Yale, much to the mortification of her parents.

She admitted to herself that she may have gone too far this time. There'd been a party outside of town in an old barn. Lots of beer, and LSD. Naomi had never dropped acid before but everyone who had said how amazing it was. So she'd tried it. And they were right, it was amazing. Everything had been so clear to her, colors were brighter and everything just seemed so alive. She'd finally lost her virginity, though she couldn't remember much about it except a general feeling of being at one with the universe and in total control of her body. And that had felt really good too.

Only now, two months later, the consequences had caught up with her. She'd missed her last two periods and every girl knew what that meant. Her friend Susie had taken her to the free clinic and the pregnancy test had come back positive. She admitted that she was in over her head. Now would have been a great time to have the supportive family she'd always dreamed of.

"My only daughter is nothing but a dirty slut," Father hissed. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and Naomi wondered how long he'd be able to keep from hitting her.

"We'll take care of this right away," Mother said, pouring herself a drink. "There's a very discreet doctor that knows just what to do."

"No." Naomi surprised herself; that's not what she wanted to say. But then she realized that maybe this was her chance. Maybe her paradise could be this little life growing inside her, a brand new family just for her.

"I suppose we'll have to pay off the boy." Mother looked at her with distaste. "We'll keep your name out of the gossip, if we're lucky."

"I don't know who the father is," Naomi replied honestly. "I was loaded. I went all the way with a lot of different guys."

Father took a step towards her, his face twisted in rage, but she stood her ground. She was tired of them pushing her around, ignoring her, making her abide by all their stupid rules.

"I'm having this baby. I'm going to raise it. And I'll be a better parent than either of you!"

"I want you out of this house," Father said quietly, his voice edged with fire. "I don't want to see you or hear from you, ever again. I don't want anything to do with you or your bastard. As of this moment, I have no daughter."

Naomi just stood there, angry and afraid and suddenly quite alone. She never thought her parents would go _that_ far. Sure, they'd be pissed. But this was crazy. How could they throw their own daughter out on the street, especially when she was carrying their grandchild? She wanted to scream at them, make them see how much she needed parents, real parents.

"Fine." She turned on her heel and walked out the front door, her insides twisting with every step. She thought about all the things in her room, mementos and books and clothes, and realized that as of this moment she had absolutely nothing but the clothes on her back and the money in her purse.

"Wait!" Ms. Judith came running out of the house, tears streaming down her face. "Oh, my sweet _bubbala_. How could you do this to yourself?"

"I'll be fine," Naomi said, ignoring the tightness in her chest and the burning in her eyes. "I'd have been leaving next year anyway. Now I can get on with the rest of my life."

Ms. Judith pulled her into a hug. "Don't make me worry about you, Cookie."

"I won't. I promise." But they both knew it was a promise that Naomi had no right making. She stepped back, rubbing at her face with the back of her hand.

"You're a good girl, Naomi Trent," Ms. Judith said tearfully. "Never forget that."

"No. I'm not Naomi Trent anymore. They don't want anything to do with me, and the feeling is mutual. If you don't mind…well…I think I'm going to change my name." Naomi took the housekeeper's hands in her own. "Do you think I could use your name from now on? Maybe…maybe pretend you're my mom?"

Ms. Judith started to sob, and she shoved a handful of money at Naomi before running back into the house. Naomi watched her go with a heavy heart, and tucked the money in her pocket without counting it. She'd go see Susie, and they'd figure out what she should do next. This was probably a good time to get out of Connecticut and see the world. There was freedom even in the pain and she relished it.

"Naomi Sandburg," she whispered to herself, trying on her new identity. "Yeah, that's good."

**1969 – Seventeen**

Blair Sandburg took his first helicopter ride when he was just an hour old. Naomi couldn't wait to tell him that story when he was old enough to understand. She'd come to Bethel with a vanload of friends for the Woodstock Festival, and luckily they'd been early enough to avoid the horrific traffic jams that followed. It hadn't been anything like what she'd expected, but as always she found herself easily getting into the swing of things. Ever since leaving home, she'd embraced life and taken whatever it had thrown at her.

Maybe coming to Woodstock hadn't been the best plan, especially since she was past her due date by several days. Still, she wasn't about to miss it. 1969 was the end of an era and that deserved to be celebrated. So she'd danced in the mud and smoked a little weed and made out with any guy that seemed interested. A lot of people had wanted to touch her swollen belly and she let them, more than willing to share the gift of life that was growing inside her.

The bands had been phenomenal. Joan Baez had played the first night and Naomi felt a kinship with her because she was pregnant too. It was cool to think that she and Joan would be raising their children in the seventies, and she wondered what that would be like.

That night she'd slept in a tent with Carol, John and Isaac, all huddled together to keep warm. Naomi had woken after only a few hours of sleep with a persistent throbbing back pain, but she didn't think anything of it. She ate granola for breakfast and grooved along with the first two bands that played that afternoon. By the time Country Joe McDonald was done, she knew she was in trouble.

Word spread through the crowd, and eventually a midwife made her way to Naomi's side. She cried all through labor, partly because of the pain and partly because she knew she'd miss the acts she really wanted to see, like Janis Joplin and Creedence. Everyone had been really nice, though. Someone's blanket went under her head and several people brought her water. And into the world, accompanied by the sound of frenetic conga drums, came Blair Sandburg, right in the middle of Santana's Soul Sacrifice.

Security officials were notified and a helicopter was called in to take Naomi and Blair to the nearest hospital. Two and a half hours after giving birth, she lay in a nice clean bed in the maternity ward and nursed her newborn son. He had dark, fuzzy hair and those pretty blue eyes that most new babies had. Naomi wondered if this was her paradise. Her very own son, a family of her own making.

She vowed to do things differently, now that she was a mother. She'd be her son's friend and his most vocal advocate. Together they'd see the world and experience as much of life as they could. They'd never settle for a mundane, upper-middle-class life filled with country clubs and dinner parties; instead they'd sleep out under the stars as often as possible, and sit in grass huts with dark-skinned natives, eating out of earthenware bowls.

"You and me," she whispered against his tiny head. "We'll find paradise together."

**1972 – Twenty**

Naomi looked blearily at the window trying to determine the time of day, but it was so dirty that she couldn't tell. She was propped up against a sagging bed in an equally sagging room, and she wasn't at all sure where she even was. Her mouth was dry and she was feeling a little nauseous. She got unsteadily to her feet and shuffled towards the nearest door. This turned out to be the bathroom, which was good because she suddenly had to pee. And then she spent a long time looking at herself in the cracked mirror over the sink. Who was that thin girl with the bloodshot eyes and the long, lank red hair?

She bent over and drank from the faucet, soothing her throat. She looked down at the inside of her arm, bruised from the heroin injections. Naomi felt at once disgusted and disappointed. There had been such an amazing rush, almost immediately after the first injection. She'd never felt so exhilarated, so free. She'd been so sure that this was it, this was her ticket to paradise. But no, not the way she felt now. Just one more false path that had led her astray.

She was out of the bedroom and halfway down the hall before she remembered her son, and she instantly panicked.

"Blair? Blair!" She pushed open other doors, found people in various states of consciousness and unconsciousness. But not her curly-headed three-year-old. Jesus, what had she done? Had she lost him?

Adrenalin sent life to her heavy limbs and she ran through the house looking for Blair. There were people everywhere, even sleeping in the halls. The ones who were awake couldn't remember seeing a little boy.

"Blair!" Naomi burst out the front door and squinted up at the sky. She couldn't be sure but it didn't seem much past noon. "Blair Sandburg, where are you?"

Her dirty yellow dress swirled around her ankles as she spun in circles, making herself dizzy. Had he wandered away? The boy was very trusting of strangers, though that wasn't entirely his fault.

And then the front door of the house next door opened and Blair came running out, his big blue eyes full of worry. "N'omi?"

"Oh, sweetie! There you are!" Naomi met him halfway and scooped him up in her arms. He looked okay, maybe a bit thin; when was the last time she'd fed him? She pressed her face to his curly head, pressing kisses to his scalp.

"Are you Blair's mother?" An older woman came out, but stayed on her front porch. "He's been worried about you."

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry you worried."

"He's been with me the last couple days," the woman said. "He's a good boy. You should take more care."

Naomi didn't care for her tone. "Don't judge me," she snapped.

"If I was, I'd a called the cops." With that, the woman went back in her house and shut the front door with a decisive slam.

"You 'kay, N'omi?"

"Yeah, sweetie. I'm okay." She tried to remember where her purse was; surely there had to be some money still inside. "Let me get cleaned up and then we'll find something to eat. How does that sound?"

"'kay."

"Wait for me right here, okay? Don't move a muscle." Naomi ducked back inside, rifling around in the living room for her purse. She found it lodged between some sleeping guy and the couch. She started to pat his cheek to wake him up, then drew back with a gasp. The man was cold to the touch, and stiff. She watched his chest, but there was no rise and fall to indicate breathing.

"Oh, God. Oh my God." Naomi gave her purse one last, tremendous yank and was able to pull it free. She was back outside in record time; forget cleaning up, she could do that at the gas station. Thankfully Blair was right where she'd left him.

"Let's go, Blair." She grabbed his hand in hers and tugged him away from the house and the dead man in the living room.

No more drugs, she told herself. No more waking up in strange rooms surrounded by strangers. No more losing track of Blair and relying on the kindness of strangers to make sure he was being looked after. She was done with it.

"Things are going to be different from now on," she promised her son. "I won't do that to you again, okay?"

Blair nodded solemnly.

"Come on, baby. Let's go find our paradise."

**1977 – Twenty-Five**

"Tell me the story again, Naomi, please?"

"Sweetie, don't you want to play in the sand?" They were in Cozumel, staying with friends of Naomi's, and it was pretty close to paradise. White sandy beaches, deep blue waters, sunny days – it was practically perfect.

"Please?" Blair was good at wheedling, but she couldn't find it in her heart to be angry at him for it. He was her sweet angel, looking bronzed and healthy beneath his long curly hair, and she had a moment of satisfaction at the visible proof of her good parenting.

"Blair, you know this story better than me now." Naomi rolled to her stomach on the lounge chair and pulled her hair off her neck.

She'd come a long way from the heroin-induced haze five years ago. Drugs were out, and now she was a vegetarian. Well, most of the time. She'd tried acupuncture, primal scream therapy, past life regression, key parties, lesbianism, psychotherapy, mediation, Buddhism, est, and biofeedback. She'd dragged Blair around the globe and they'd seen some amazing things so far, but still her paradise seemed just out of reach.

Blair sat in the sand next to her, his flexible little limbs easily folding into the lotus position. Naomi's son was a little sponge, soaking up every experience. He was always watching, always learning, and it made her proud when people complimented her on his good-natured personality and easy manners. Still, he could be like a dog with a bone about some things, and the story he'd heard from an old man in Peru had somehow struck a chord with him.

"Please?" he asked again, batting his long eyelashes at her and making her laugh.

"Okay, okay." Naomi rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes. "The old shamans tell the story of a man who is more than a man. He is gifted with keen senses, and his job is to watch over his tribe and keep them safe from harm. Some call him Watchman, others call him Sentinel. Any tribe that has such a man amongst its people is lucky indeed, for they never need to fear starvation, war or undue suffering."

Blair had heard countless folktales and fairy tales in his eight short years, and Naomi didn't know why this one was different. He'd written about it in his journal, talked about it in therapy when Naomi could afford to pay for a session. She wondered uneasily if it was normal for someone so young to become so obsessed.

"You forgot the part about his partner," Blair prompted her.

"Oh, of course. Well, the Watchman…"

"Sentinel."

"Watchman sounds more poetic," Naomi pointed out. She opened her eyes and saw her son watching her intently. "Okay, fine. Well, in order to do his job the _Sentinel_ needs someone to protect him because not all gifts come without a price. When he uses his senses, the Sentinel can become lost in them. His companion helps to keep him grounded and focused, and together they are a formidable team."

"Do you think that's true?" Blair asked. "Do you think there's really Sentinels out there?"

"I don't know, Sweetie. It would be nice if it were. Who wouldn't want a nice protector like that, keeping watch?"

"Yeah," he said dreamily, his eyes distant now. "It'd be cool to be part of his tribe."

Naomi hummed her agreement, closing her eyes again and reveling in the warmth of the sun on her back. If she stayed there much longer the sound of the waves would lull her to sleep. She was going to be sad to leave next week, but as beautiful as Cozumel was, it wasn't right. She'd know the right place when she got there.

"Are we part of a tribe?" Blair asked softly.

"Mmmm hmmm. The Sandburg Tribe, me and you."

"And a dog named Boo?" he laughed.

"Travelin' and livin' off the land," Naomi replied.

"Naomi, are we part of the lost tribes of Israel?"

She raised up on her elbows and looked at her son, confused. "What?"

"Are we Jewish?" Blair clarified. "Because our name sounds Jewish, but don't celebrate Hanukkah or Passover or anything like that."

Naomi briefly flirted with the idea of telling him the truth about their surname, but she wasn't sure he'd understand. And she'd have to tell so much more to explain it. "We aren't practicing Jews, sweetie. There are so many interesting religions out there, why stick with just one when you can embrace them all?"

"I guess," he said doubtfully.

"Now go play. But watch out for the surf."

"I will."

Naomi settled back down and closed her eyes again, listening as Blair got to his feet and dusted off his green bathing suit. She'd gotten him a bucket and a shovel and he'd promised to build her a giant sand castle. She felt a little twinge of guilt that he didn't have anyone to play with, and thought maybe it was time to go back to the states and let him spend a little time in regular school. He was so smart, it wasn't that he needed the lessons. But some peer socialization wouldn't be bad.

As she drifted off to sleep, Naomi wondered if it would be prudent to take him to Jewish services, at least once.

**1980 – Twenty-Eight**

Naomi stood on the sidewalk, clutching her suitcase in both hands. Blair was beside her, backpack over his shoulder and wary look in his eyes. The house in front of them was fairly unremarkable – split level, green siding, flowers in pots by the front steps. The only thing that set it apart from the other similar houses on the street was the big rig parked in the oversized driveway.

"Why do I have to stay here?" Blair asked again, his normally open face shuttered. "I want to stay with you."

"Sweetie, you know you can't come. We talked about this." Naomi tried to rest her hand on his shoulder but he flinched away from her touch.

"It'll be good, you'll see," she said, making her voice sound as cheery as possible. "You'll get to be in school, make some new friends. And…and it's a chance to meet some family."

Blair looked at her and for a moment Naomi was taken aback by the power of his gaze. It wasn't often that she acknowledged her son as an entity separate from herself, but this was one of those times it was impossible to ignore. It scared her a little.

"They haven't wanted to meet me for eleven years."

Naomi could have set him straight about that, but she never liked to paint herself in a bad light. Truth was she had gladly accepted the money her aunt and uncle sent her but had never agreed to visit them or let them meet her son. The connection to her parents was too close.

"Remember what I said about living in the present?"

"Yeah," Blair sighed. "I remember."

Any further discussion was forestalled when the front door opened and Naomi's Aunt Sal came out. She looked so much like Mother that Naomi lost her breath and stumbled back a step.

"Naomi? Lord, look at you. A grown woman." Aunt Sal came down the steps and out to the sidewalk, a tall, slim woman dressed in an oversized flannel shirt and worn jeans. "And this is Blair? My, what a fine looking boy!"

Naomi collected herself and smiled. "Blair, this is Aunt Sal."

"Nice to meet you," he said, holding out his hand.

"So polite." Aunt Sal shook the proffered hand, then looked over her shoulder. "Bobby! Come on out here and meet Blair!"

Uncle Bobby soon appeared, larger than life and twice as tall. Naomi had forgotten the sheer size of him, and how she'd always thought of him as a real-life Paul Bunyan. She looked over at her son and saw him withdraw, the quiet thoughtful boy replaced by the bouncy effusive one that almost always greeted strangers.

"Is that your truck? It's really cool. Do you think I could learn to drive it? There's a whole trucker society, you know. You can hear it over the CB radios. Like a secret language, and a certain code that only other truckers know. It's fascinating."

"You want to see inside?" Uncle Bobby asked in his deep, booming voice.

"Oh, yeah!"

Naomi watched Blair go off with her uncle and climb up into the cab of the big rig. The thought of being without him for a month was physically painful, but she knew he'd be in good hands.

Aunt Sal took hold of her elbow and led her up to the house. "You'll leave the number where you'll be?"

"Of course. I really appreciate this, Aunt Sal. I didn't have anyone else who could watch him for me."

"You gonna stay clean this time?"

Naomi flushed. She wasn't proud of the fact that she was going to a rehab center. She'd promised herself years ago that she was done with drugs, but then someone had convinced her to try cocaine. There was a certain kind of euphoria that could only be achieved chemically, and she'd missed that. For the brief time the high lasted she felt like she'd found her paradise. It never lasted, though. The last time she'd used she had convulsions, and scared Blair half to death. Herself too.

"I really want to," she answered honestly.

"Well, I think it shows strength of character to check yourself in. You take however long you need, don't you worry about Blair."

Naomi gave her aunt a quick hug. "I can't thank you enough."

"Anything we should know to make him more comfortable?" Aunt Sal had by this time gotten her inside the house. She left her suitcase in the front entry and went back to the kitchen.

"He has panic attacks sometimes. He knows how to deal with them when he does, so don't worry. He's on a partial vegetarian diet right now; no red meat, but he'll eat fish and chicken." Naomi sat down at the table, folding her hands on it. "If he has a nightmare, I usually make him a cup of tea. He really likes tea. Oh, he's been listening to Pink Floyd a lot lately, but he has headphones for his tape player."

"What about school?"

She reached into her pocket and pulled out some papers, handing them to her aunt. "He's skipped a few grades. You can enroll him in ninth grade, but if they want to test him he could probably skip up to tenth. He's really smart."

"He looks like a fine boy, Naomi. You've done a good job with him." Aunt Sal handed her a glass of iced tea and sat beside her.

"He's an easy child. Always was."

Speak of the devil, here he came through the door, bubbling over with excitement about Uncle Bobby's truck and how he was going to learn to drive it. Maybe this time apart would be good for them. Naomi had given him everything she could, but this was the first time he'd gotten to be with extended family. She trusted Aunt Sal not to contact her parents.

"I'll bring the car around," Uncle Bobby said. He was going to drive her to the rehab center so she didn't have to take a cab or the bus. It was likely also his way of making sure she was going where she said she was, and she couldn't fault him for that.

"I don't want you to go," Blair whispered, his blue eyes filled with tears.

"I hear you," Naomi said. "But you know why I need to do this. My spirit isn't healthy right now, sweetie, and this place will help me fix it."

"I don't want you to be sick anymore. I'm just…I'll miss you."

Even though he was eleven now and not much of a cuddler anymore, Naomi pulled him into her lap and wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back, tightly, and she felt his tears on her neck.

"When I get back I'll be good as new," she promised. "And you can pick where we go next, okay? Anywhere you want to go."

"You know, you could stick around for a while," Aunt Sal said. "We have plenty of room. You should think about settling down, Naomi. It's past time."

"Not until we find paradise," Blair said, sliding out of his mother's lap. "Right? When we find it, then we'll stay."

Aunt Sal just raised an eyebrow, but made no comment to that. Naomi felt gratified that her son was still on her side. She placed her hand on his cheek.

"That's right, sweetie. We won't give up till we find it."

**1985 – Thirty-Three**

Blair had talked nonstop all the way to Rainier University, bubbling over with excitement about the classes and professors. Naomi tried to share in his enthusiasm, but she felt like turning the car around and just driving in the opposite direction as far as she could go. Her baby was leaving her. Abandoning her while he followed academic pursuits. She honestly hadn't thought that finishing high school so early meant he'd run right to college. They should've had a few more years to travel together, to search for the paradise that Naomi was starting to feel just wasn't out there.

"Dr. Stoddard is a world-renowned anthropologist, Naomi. And to have him agree to be my mentor? It's such an honor! I wonder how old I have to be to go on an expedition. Man, that would be the coolest!" Blair bounced a little in his seat. "I can't believe I got all those scholarships, that sure was lucky. At least we won't have to worry about student loans right off the bat."

Naomi just let him ramble on while she focused on breathing and finding her center. After she dropped him off she was going to a women's retreat in Oregon; she knew she'd need that time to process the change in their relationship. Blair would be having all sorts of experiences without her now, and she didn't know how she was going to deal with that. It would be so much harder to see him as an extension of herself.

"There it is!" Blair pointed as the university buildings appeared. "Wow, it looks even nicer than in the brochure."

Using the map he'd received in the mail, he directed her towards the Freshman dorm. There were people everywhere, parents and students carrying every manner of trunk, box and suitcase. Naomi wondered if any of them were as young as her son, who didn't even have a driver's license yet.

They didn't have much to move up into Blair's new room. A trunk filled mostly with clothes, clean sheets, and books. Aunt Sal and Uncle Bobby had sent him money for books and sundries, and told him he could pay it back by spending the next summer driving truck with Uncle Bobby. While Naomi was grateful to them for their generosity, all she could think about was a whole summer without her son.

She helped Blair get his side of the room put to rights. There was no sign of his roommate, though all of this things where lumped together in the middle of the other bed. Naomi hoped he was nice, for Blair's sake. All too soon it was time to say goodbye, and though she'd been hoping for the bubbly, happy Blair to put her at ease she instead got the serious boy with anxiety written all over his face.

"What if I don't fit in?" he asked in a small voice.

Naomi took his hands in hers and wanted nothing more than to bundle him back in the car and take him away from here. But she needed to think of what was best for him for a change, no matter how personally painful she found it.

"You're going to do great, sweetie. Think of all the opportunities you'll have here."

"Everyone will be older than me."

"And you'll be smarter," she assured him. "Just be yourself, and you'll make friends in no time. Don't neglect your meditation or your diet. Spiritual and physical health will boost your mental health."

"I hear you," Blair replied, his voice still a bit shaky. "You'll check in with Aunt Sal, right? I'll give her my phone number as soon as I get it."

"I will."

"And you'll remember to call if you go out of the country, right?"

"I promise, sweetie." Naomi let go of his hands and reached into her bag for the gift she'd gotten for him. It was wrapped in plain brown paper, which was more environmentally sound. "A friend of mine tracked this down. I think you'll like it."

Blair took the gift, clearly surprised. Naomi didn't give them very often, frequently forgetting birthdays and sometimes even Christmas. He turned it over in his hands, not unwrapping it right away.

"It's a book," he said.

"Open it."

He did, and the delight on his face was well worth the outrageous cost of the thing. "_The Sentinels of Paraguay_? Wow, Naomi, this is awesome! I can't believe you found this! Oh, man. This is, like, the definitive work on the subject!"

"Don't ever give up on your dream, Blair. You keep looking for your Sentinel, no matter what anyone else tells you."

He looked at her then, his eyes so wise in such a young face. "You too, Mom. You keep looking for your paradise."

Naomi felt herself choke up a bit at that; he hardly ever called her mom, which is exactly how she wanted it, but when he did that one word always seemed so weighted with emotion.

They hugged then, Blair cradling the book carefully in one arm, and Naomi hurried back to the car before he could see her cry. She hadn't felt this lost since the day she'd left home.

"Bye, baby," she whispered to herself as she drove away.

**1996 – Forty-four**

Naomi noticed the difference in her son as soon as she saw him. His aura was different, but so was his whole manner. There was an edge to him that hadn't been there before. She was certain the blame for that rested solely on Jim Ellison's shoulders. While she was grateful to the man for giving her son a place to live, she most certainly didn't approve of him working with the police department on a regular basis.

Not that Jim had been anything but courteous. She knew she was being presumptuous, coming in with her sage and rearranging his furniture. But if her son was living here she wanted the best environment possible for him. She especially needed to counteract all the negative energy that came from the work he was doing, involving himself with criminals and cops.

The longer she stayed, the more she noticed. Such as how comfortable her son was around his roommate. They spent a lot of time in each other's space, sharing little touches that she suspected they didn't even really notice. In addition to a new edge, Blair also had something of a glow. He seemed inexplicably happy here.

She couldn't tolerate the secret keeping, though, or the fact that her first night in Cascade he was running around town with gun-toting criminals instead of sitting down to a nice meal of tongue with her and catching up. It was intolerable. This wasn't her quiet, level-headed son. And she was more than happy to tell him so when they were all in Captain Banks' office at the station, despite the deaf ear everyone else had turned on her. Surely her own son could see that what he was doing was wrong.

"I saw a woman kidnap you at gunpoint. I mean, clearly there's a lot more going on here than simply observing. I mean, the next thing I know you're gonna be parading around here in a blue uniform and jack boots."

It was her biggest fear. Her son being an academic was one thing; it was perfectly acceptable and perfectly safe. All this work with the cops, though, that was establishment and they'd both always been anti-establishment. Cops were hard and cruel and violent, the complete antithesis of her boy.

"Well, you know what Mom? If I do, that's my choice."

"Well, make another choice," Naomi said before she could stop herself. She knew how she sounded, but her son could not continue down this road. He already had a career.

Captain Banks broke in. "Mrs. Sandburg…"

"Ms," she corrected automatically.

"Ms. Technically Blair is still an observer. But he's become much more than that. Your son has helped us solve some very difficult cases and I consider him part of the team."

"Yeah," Blair added. "And they need my help on this case."

Part of the team. Something twisted in her stomach when she heard that. What was next? Would he be carrying a gun?

"Oh, sweetie. I'm sorry, but you're not cut out for this kind of work." Naomi walked over to him, imploring him to see things her way. It wasn't too late for him to get out of this, to turn back to a safer path. Surely this wasn't what he was meant to do. He was a peace activist, for God's sake.

"Mom…" Blair looked at Simon for backup. The captain hesitated, then stood up behind his desk. Naomi already knew she wasn't going to like what he had to say.

"Well, technically that's not entirely true. I've gotten to know Blair over the past few months and though we don't always see eye to eye, his enthusiasm is kind of…uh…refreshing. And I trust him. Whether he decides to stay or go, I back him up one hundred percent."

There was that glow again, shining out of her son's face. Naomi knew what choice he was going to make, knew how much male validation meant to him, but she had to ask anyway.

"So what's it gonna be?"

"I choose to stay, Naomi."

"Hmm," she replied. "I hear that."

"Do you?"

"Mmm hmm." She gathered up her things and left, not trusting herself to speak. Blair had chosen the cops over her. Over his own personal safety. She'd gone back to Jim's place and meditated, trying to come to grips with the changes in her son's life and how that impacted her own.

Of course, after that everything had gone downhill. Armed criminals had burst into the loft and she'd been forced to lie. It was one thing to commit a lie of omission – she'd had years of experience with those – but an out and out lie just went against her nature. She did what she had to do to keep Blair's cover with the car thieves, all the time wondering if he'd become some kind of adrenalin junkie.

But somewhere in the middle of things, with she herself pretending to be a master criminal, Naomi was able to really see her son and what he was doing. He operated well under pressure, he could think on his feet, and he could still outtalk the best of them. His compassion for his fellow human beings hadn't lessened any either, despite the people he was associating with these days.

She decided to cut her visit short. So much had happened in just a couple of days and she needed time to process it all. There was a spiritual retreat in Utah she thought she might go to. Or maybe she should go visit Aunt Sal and tell her everything that had happened so they could commiserate together.

"Do you have to leave so soon?" Blair asked. "We didn't exactly get to spend a lot of quality time together."

"I have a lot to think about, sweetie. Are you sure you don't want to come with me? It might be good for you to step away for a while, get a better perspective."

"I don't need a better perspective, Mom. This is what I've been looking for."

"What?"

"This is my paradise, Naomi. Being here with Jim. The important work I'm doing at the department." Blair pulled her into a hug. "I've never been so…satisfied. I'm part of a tribe now."

"What am I? Chopped liver?" she asked jokingly, but she knew he could see the pain in her face when he pulled back.

"You're my mother. And you raised me to care about other people, to fight against injustice and intolerance. That's what I'm doing. I'm making a difference."

Naomi wanted to ask where she fit in, but she didn't because this wasn't her place. Blair had made a life for himself in Cascade. He'd been keeping a lot of his work from her, downplaying the danger, and she supposed she should be glad of that; sometimes ignorance really was bliss. Now that she'd had a taste of it for herself, though, she would always worry, always wonder what other secrets he was keeping from her.

She pulled him back for another hug. "I'm so proud of you," she whispered in his ear.

"That means a lot."

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'm glad you found your paradise. It's a gift."

Blair looked at her sadly then, but he didn't say anything. Naomi got in her car and drove way, leaving him waving after her from the sidewalk. Her little boy was really and truly gone, replaced by a man with his own friends, his own life. He was making a new history for himself, as he should. She couldn't help feeling envious of him. He was only twenty-seven years old and already had found exactly what he was looking for.

And for the first time in her life she wondered if she'd missed her paradise because she hadn't recognized it when it came along.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> Well, this certainly turned out much longer than I'd anticipated. The muse really likes Naomi, I guess. ::grins:: When I heard this song and really listened to the lyrics, I knew right away who it was meant for. I thought that was a good way of explaining Naomi's itinerant lifestyle, to have her always looking for some perfect life she could never have because such a thing really doesn't exist._

_Of course, a lot of this is Blair's story too. Some of the dialogue from the last section was taken from the episode Spare Parts in season two (Thanks to Becky's Sentinel Site for the transcripts!), specifically the scene in Simon's office._

_I did some online research for this, so a lot of the events surrounding Naomi's life are real. For instance, someone at Woodstock did go into labor, but she was airlifted out via helicopter before she gave birth. Don't know if it's canon or fanon that Jim is a Santana fan, but I was excited to see that they did indeed play at Woodstock. So of course I had to have Blair being born during their set. LOL!_


	15. Nightswimming

**Nightswimming**, by REM

_Nightswimming  
>Deserves a quiet night<br>The photograph on the dashboard  
>Taken years ago<br>Turned around backwards so the windshield shows  
>Every street light reveals a picture in reverse<br>Still it's so much clearer  
>I forgot my shirt at the waters edge<br>The moon is low tonight_

_Nightswimming_  
><em>Deserves a quiet night<em>  
><em>I'm not sure all these people understand<em>  
><em>It's not like years ago<em>  
><em>The fear of getting caught<em>  
><em>The recklessness in water<em>  
><em>They cannot see me naked<em>  
><em>These things they go away<em>  
><em>Replaced by every day<em>

_Nightswimming  
>Remembering that night<br>September's coming soon  
>I'm pining for the moon<br>And what if there were two  
>Side by side in orbit<br>Around the fairest sun  
>The bright tide that ever drawn<br>Could not describe  
>Nightswimming<em>

_You I thought I knew you_  
><em>You I can not judge<em>  
><em>You I thought you knew me<em>  
><em>This one laughing quietly<em>  
><em>Underneath my breath<em>  
><em>Nightswimming<em>  
><em>The photograph reflects<em>  
><em>Every street light a reminder<em>  
><em>Nightswimming<em>  
><em>Deserves a quiet night<em>  
><em>Deserves a quiet night<em>

* * *

><p>Jim watched Blair go off with Simon, his partner babbling about that narwhal horn. He still couldn't believe that a simple fishing trip had gone so wrong. And Blair had been in the middle of it as always, had almost been killed. Again. He was proud of the kid, who'd managed to talk his way out of trouble one more time.<p>

With some difficulty he brought his attention back to Elaine. Pretty, blonde Elaine who would be any outdoorsy man's dream. So why was he still tuned into Blair's heartbeat?

"If…um…if you could get some time off, I know a place where the salmon runs so heavy they'll almost knock you over." Elaine batted her eyelashes at him.

"Where would that be?" he asked, trying to hold up his side of the conversation. She'd gotten him thinking, though. He had some time off coming to him, a nice long weekend in point of fact.

"Well, that's privileged information," Elaine flirted.

"Oh, I see," Jim replied, distracted. He knew a nice camping spot he hadn't taken Blair to yet, and he owed him for the fishing trip getting cut short.

"You'll have to have a warden to…guide you."

Jim pulled his focus back. "That sounds…yeah, that sounds real nice. My schedule is pretty full right now, though."

"Oh." Elaine looked disappointed. Jim gave her a smile, trying to soften the blow. "Well, maybe another time?"

"Sure. Thanks again for all your help, Elaine."

"Any time." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

Jim watched her leave and wondered what the hell was wrong with him. How could he turn her down? But then Blair was back, grinning and gabbing and waving his arms around; he forgot all about Elaine as he bantered with his partner.

"Hey, Chief. Feel like picking back up on that fishing trip?"

"Yeah? Hey, that'd be great man!"

"Can you get Friday or Monday off from Rainier?"

Blair looked surprised. "Long weekend?"

Jim shrugged, like it didn't matter to him one way or another.

"Yeah, let me make a few phone calls. I probably can't get both, but definitely one or the other." He bounced up on his toes. "Same place?"

"Nah, I have a new place. It's even better."

"No poachers this time, right?" Blair asked, punching Jim playfully in the shoulder.

"Can't make any promises, Chief." Jim mimed throwing a punch. "How do you feel about lunch?"

"I can get behind it, man."

They headed out the door together and Jim threw a casual arm over Blair's shoulders. Blair reached around to pat him on the back.

"Italian?"

"Deli."

"Only if you get some salad, man."

"You're such a nag, Chief."

Blair whinnied like a horse and they both laughed.

*o*o*o*

"God, it's gorgeous up here," Blair said. He took a deep breath. "Take in that fresh air, big guy. Clean some of that smog out of your lungs."

"I'll do that as soon as you help me set up this tent, nature boy."

They quickly had the camp set up to Jim's satisfaction and he looked around with his hands on his hips. The three hour drive and two mile hike had been worth it. He couldn't hear anyone even remotely nearby; they had the place all to themselves. This had definitely been a good idea.

"So what's next?" Blair asked.

"Next, I show you the view. Follow me, Chief." Jim led the way, following a path that had been marked by the passage of others before them rather than by forest rangers. The camp was set up in a small clearing, and once they cleared the trees on the east side the view was breathtaking. A mountain lake, wide and still as glass, reflecting the blue sky like a mirror. Beyond the lake several mountain peaks rose majestically in the distance.

"Wow." Blair placed one hand in the middle of Jim's back. "This is unbelievable."

"And for the next three days it's all ours." He'd already turned off his cell phone. They were incommunicado on this trip, he didn't care what was happening back home. Just a Sentinel and his Guide, enjoying the splendor of nature. Life didn't get much better than this.

"Can I ask you a question, big guy?"

"Can I stop you?" Jim asked dryly.

Blair chuckled. "How come you brought me here instead of Elaine? I could tell she was into you, man."

Jim shrugged, feeling a bit flustered. "We never got to finish our last fishing trip. Can't a guy hang out with his buddy without having ulterior motives?"

He could feel his partner studying him, but he didn't turn his head. No sense giving him a chance to read anything on his face. Truth was, he wasn't a hundred percent sure why he _did_ bring the kid up here. Maybe it was just that, after all this time living and working together, it just seemed wrong not to do things with Blair. He made everything better somehow, more fun. And Jim knew that if he wanted to, he could give his senses free rein and not have to worry because his Guide always had his back.

"Come on, Chief." Jim clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Let's collect up some firewood. We'll have burgers tonight and catch some fish tomorrow."

"I could eat," Blair agreed. They headed back to their campsite. "We fishing in the lake? Cause I didn't see a boat."

"No. There's a good stream nearby, though. Let's see how well you remember your fly fishing lesson."

"Care to make a friendly wager, Jim?"

"Not on your life, pal."

*o*o*o*

Jim woke with a start, his senses on alert and his sleep-muddled mind trying to figure out why. It was still dark, though he had no idea what time it was. And then he realized he was alone in the tent; Blair's sleeping bag was empty. Jim hastily unzipped his own and clambered out. He listened, anxious, until he heard his Guide's heartbeat coming from down by the lake. What was he doing out there in the middle of the night?

He spent a few minutes debating his next move. Should he just go back to bed? There was no indication from the regular, steady beat that anything was wrong. Still, he couldn't help be a little concerned. And curious.

"Hell with it," Jim muttered. He pulled on his jeans and his hiking boots, but didn't bother with a shirt. It was unusually warm for this time of year and he wasn't worried about catching cold.

The moon was low in the sky, an indication that it was still fairly early in the night; no later than eleven o'clock, surely. Now he was annoyed at having gotten so little sleep. Blair better have a damn good reason for not being tucked into his sleeping bag and dreaming of perky co-eds.

Jim didn't need to dial vision up very far to see where he was going; the night was clear and the moon was very nearly full. As he got closer to the lake, just the other side of the tree line, a new sound caught his ear; a wet sound. What was he…oh.

Passing through the trees and onto the rocky shoreline of the lake, he saw that Blair was swimming. In the lake. In the dark. He paused for a moment to watch his friend, powerful strokes moving him quickly through the water. The whole area was bathed in the pale glow of the moon, making it look almost like an alien landscape; foreign and strange. Then Blair dove under and Jim's breath caught in his throat as he caught a glimpse of his friend's very wet, very _naked_ ass.

Good lord, he was skinny dipping.

Jim thought that maybe it was time for a strategic retreat. It felt wrong, watching Blair like this. Like spying. So what if the kid liked to take a swim without clothes? It was none of his business. He dialed down sight, not wanting an unfair advantage. But when Blair resurfaced Jim was still captivated even without the sharpness of heightened vision. The drops of water on his face, in his hair, captured little bits of moonlight and reflected them back. He'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

"Jim?"

He had an instant to panic at being caught. What would Blair think of him for peeping like this? He flushed in embarrassment, hoping that his friend wouldn't be able to see in the dim light.

"Did I wake you? I tried to be quiet."

"Kinda…" Jim croaked. He licked his lips and tried again. "Kinda late for a swim, Chief."

Blair swam closer until his feet were touching the bottom and the water was just up to his chest. Jim was mesmerized by the silver hoop in his friend's nipple, which winked in the light.

"Couldn't help myself, man. The view, the moon…it just called to me, you know? Water's a little cool, but it's not bad once you're in it." Blair pushed his wet hair back from his forehead. "Wanna come in?"

"What? No. It's…uh…it's late."

Blair just grinned at him. "What are you, chicken? Come on, Ellison. I promise I won't look while you strip." He made clucking noises.

Jim glared at him. The kid obviously thought he wouldn't do it, or couldn't without being egged on. He was damned if he'd be manipulated that way.

"Like I said, it's late. I'll see you in the morning." He turned on his heel and started to walk away. Blair's whisper from behind stopped him.

"Jim. Come night swimming with me."

And suddenly he wanted nothing else, as if this were the whole reason they'd come on this trip. Maybe it was, Jim didn't know. Right now he didn't know anything.

"Jim?"

He turned back around and looked at the indistinct image of Blair, unable to read his expression as dialed down as he was. "Just a swim?"

"Just a swim."

Jim untied his boots and toed them off. When his hands reached for the zipper on his jeans, Blair turned and swam farther out to where the water got deeper. It wasn't necessary. Jim had never been shy about his body, in front of his roommate or anyone else. His years in the Army, living in such close quarters with other men, had taken care of any shyness he may have had in that respect. And he wasn't vain, but he knew he looked good. He spent enough time at the gym maintaining his physique to want someone to be able to enjoy it.

He waded into the lake, the water cool but not cold against his skin. He wondered how he looked to Blair, who was watching him now. How did the moonlight alter him? When the water was deep enough he ducked under; he never was one of those toe-dippers. The ripples made the mirror-image of the moon on the surface of the water shimmy and shake.

"I told you it was nice," Blair said.

Jim had to fight not to turn his vision back up. His friend remained elusive, treading water just far enough away that his eyes, made dark in the night, were shadowed and secretive. His tone was joking, but there was an undercurrent of something else as well.

With a mental shrug, Jim started doing laps. He enjoyed the feel of the water on his skin, unencumbered by swim trunks. He only faltered for a moment when he wondered if there were fish or other aquatic creatures that might find his dangly bits particularly edible. Blair paced him and they swam together in silence for a while, the only sound that of their breathing and the displacement of water.

"Not bad for a guppy," Jim said finally, treading water and enjoying the slight burn he could feel in his muscles. He forgot what good exercise swimming could be.

"One of the high schools I went to wanted me to join the swim team," Blair said, still just out of reach. "I had to turn them down."

"Why?"

"Have you seen those guys, man? They shave their whole bodies! No way was I doing that."

Jim laughed, the sound of it echoing across the lake. "That would have been quite an undertaking, Chief."

As free as Jim was showing his body off, Blair was just the opposite. He hid himself under layers of clothes and never paraded around the apartment in the nude. Jim could count the number of times he'd seen him topless on one hand, but he'd never forget how hairy his roommate was. Even a couple days without a shave had him looking like a mountain man.

"You're just jealous."

"Keep telling yourself that, Sandburg."

Silence stretched between them again and it was comfortable, the kind of quiet that can exist between two people who knew each other well and were happy just to spend time together. The next time Jim looked over, Blair was floating on his back, just his head and part of his chest above the water; the nipple ring was gleaming again.

"You ever gone skinny dipping before, Jim?"

"Sure. Back in high school. Some of us would break into the public pool after hours." Jim grinned at the memory. "We thought we were such badasses."

"Someday you'll have to tell me how you transitioned from junior lawbreaker to straight-laced Army Ranger."

"Someday I will," Jim replied. "Just like you'll tell me how a geeky anthropologist becomes a super hero crime fighter."

"Yeah, right," Blair snorted. Jim shook his head. The kid never seemed to realize what it was he did, how much he brought to the table with all the cop stuff. A little humility was one thing, but sometimes he took it too far.

"You did really good with Rafferty, Sandburg. You saved all our asses."

"Just self preservation, man. God, I hate when people point guns at me!"

Jim could hear the slightest quaver in his voice, and knew he was still upset about it. Not that he blamed him. Out in the middle of nowhere, a boat full of illegal merchandise, no backup, no Jim-to-the-rescue. And he'd handled it like a pro.

"You could've freaked out or froze up. You held it together and got the job done. Don't discount that, Chief."

"Keep that up and they'll make you president of the Blair Sandburg Fan Club," Blair joked.

"Not only am I a member, but I bought the company," Jim shot back. He'd been moving in a slow circle, looking everywhere but at his partner, but knew just when he finally came within arm's reach. He wrapped his fingers around his friend's wrist and pulled them both under the water, narrowly dodging a knee flailing in the direction of his very vulnerable manhood.

"You dick!" Blair spluttered when they broke the surface, his hands clutching Jim's shoulders. "Why did you do that?"

"You were too far away," Jim said.

"What the fuck are you…"

Jim leaned forward and covered Blair's mouth with his own, swallowing whatever else it was he had to say. The younger man made a startled sound in the back of his throat that became a sigh. His hands moved up to Jim's head, cradling the back of it while his thumbs stroked along his jaw line. Their legs brushed against each other continually as they worked to stay afloat.

Blair pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide and dark. "What are you doing?"

"I thought that was pretty obvious, Chief, especially for someone with your long years of experience." Jim couldn't quite pull off the light banter, not with his voice so ragged and breathless. It was as if these feelings had been there all along, bottled up and hidden away somehow, even from Jim himself. He was pretty sure this was never part of the plan when he decided to bring Blair up here, but kissing him seemed right. Everything about him seemed right. It had felt pretty damned good, too, and he moved in for more. He was forestalled with a hand on his mouth.

"I need to know what this means, Jim."

He was close enough to see the pleading, even if he hadn't been able to hear it in Blair's voice.

"I'm not sure I know," he admitted. "What I do know is that I had every opportunity to make a move on Elaine and I just couldn't do it. When she started talking about showing me a special fishing spot, all I could think of was bringing you here. So _you_ tell _me_ what that means."

"Maybe it just means we've been spending too much time together."

"Or not enough." Jim moved before Blair could stop him, claiming those lush lips once again. Kissing was good; kissing this hairy anthropologist was amazing. Blair wrapped himself around Jim and they both sank like stones.

This time when they came up for air Jim kept hold of his friend and swam back close enough to shore where they could stand and not have to tread water, which was becoming a dangerous proposition. As soon as his feet touched down, he pulled Blair into his arms and went right back to the kissing. Instead of arguing, the younger man opened his mouth and deepened the kiss, and this time it was Jim making little noises in the back of his throat.

"You make a persuasive argument," Blair panted. "Maybe we should move this back to the tent?"

Jim wanted to tell him no, that he looked so beautiful out here, like something from another world. A creature made up of silver light, who was both firm and yielding, and everything that he wanted. By the same token, he was afraid of where this was leading. He hadn't had enough time to prepare for this, mentally speaking, and he knew all too well that whatever came next there would be no turning back from; things would change for better or worse.

"We don't have to do anything more than this," Blair assured him, knowing him well enough to hear what it was he couldn't say. "Be nice to get a bit more comfortable, right? You can put your clothes back on and everything."

That was enough to reassure Jim. His Guide would take care of him, like he always did. They retrieved their clothes and made their way carefully back to camp, Jim dialing his sight back up to make sure they stayed on the path. When they got back Blair jogged ahead to the tent and by the time Jim caught up he had zipped their sleeping bags together.

"This will be warmer," he explained.

They quickly toweled off, and slipped back into their pajamas. Jim slid into the expanded sleeping bag first, and held it open invitingly. Blair quickly joined him, snuggling up against his chest, curls damp but not uncomfortably so.

"So what now?" he whispered.

Jim shook his head. "I don't know. I guess we'll just have to take it one step at a time."

"That's definitely doable."

"I'm glad you're here, Chief. I'm glad it's you."

Blair tipped his head up, eyes gleaming with a light that only Jim could see, and offered his mouth up for a kiss. That night there didn't need to be any more words between them; they spoke with their hearts and understood.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> This songfic starts at the tail end of S3E38 Poachers. Only instead of Jim going off for a long fishing weekend with Elaine the pretty game warden, I found him a better alternative. ::grins:: Can you honestly blame me?_

_Heard this song and thought…nighttime skinny dipping. Yeah, I can work with that! I dedicate this songfic to all you gals out there who love naked, wet Ellison and Sandburg action. You know who you are!_


	16. Lullaby

**Lullaby,** Nickelback

_Well, I know the feeling  
>Of finding yourself stuck out on the ledge<br>And there ain't no healing  
>From cutting yourself with the jagged edge<br>I'm telling you that, it's never that bad  
>Take it from someone who's been where you're at<br>Laid out on the floor  
>And you're not sure you can take this anymore<em>

_So just give it one more try to a lullaby_  
><em>And turn this up on the radio<em>  
><em>If you can hear me now<em>  
><em>I'm reaching out<em>  
><em>To let you know that you're not alone<em>  
><em>And if you can't tell, I'm scared as hell<em>  
><em>'Cause I can't get you on the telephone<em>  
><em>So just close your eyes<em>  
><em>Oh, honey here comes a lullaby<em>  
><em>Your very own lullaby<em>

_Please let me take you_  
><em>Out of the darkness and into the light<em>  
><em>'Cause I have faith in you<em>  
><em>That you're gonna make it through another night<em>  
><em>Stop thinking about the easy way out<em>  
><em>There's no need to go and blow the candle out<em>  
><em>Because you're not done<em>  
><em>You're far too young<em>  
><em>And the best is yet to come<em>

_So just give it one more try to a lullaby_  
><em>And turn this up on the radio<em>  
><em>If you can hear me now<em>  
><em>I'm reaching out<em>  
><em>To let you know that you're not alone<em>  
><em>And if you can't tell, I'm scared as hell<em>  
><em>'Cause I can't get you on the telephone<em>  
><em>So just close your eyes<em>  
><em>Oh, honey here comes a lullaby<em>  
><em>Your very own lullaby<em>

_Well, everybody's hit the bottom_  
><em>Everybody's been forgotten<em>  
><em>When everybody's tired of being alone<em>  
><em>Yeah, everybody's been abandoned<em>  
><em>And left a little empty handed<em>  
><em>So if you're out there barely hanging on...<em>

_Just give it one more try to a lullaby_  
><em>And turn this up on the radio<em>  
><em>If you can hear me now<em>  
><em>I'm reaching out<em>  
><em>To let you know that you're not alone<em>  
><em>And if you can't tell, I'm scared as hell<em>  
><em>'Cause I can't get you on the telephone<em>  
><em>So just close your eyes<em>  
><em>Oh, honey here comes a lullaby<em>  
><em>Your very own lullaby<em>  
><em>Oh, honey here comes a lullaby<em>  
><em>Your very own lullaby<em>

* * *

><p>It was well past midnight and Blair was tired. He volunteered at the Crisis Center once a week, when he could manage it, but his schedule was so full that he was almost always coming off a full day of classes and study sessions. His social life was fairly non-existent at the moment, not for lack of trying. The most action he'd had lately was some enthusiastic groping in the library stacks with Susie Detmer from the Physics department. Beggars couldn't be choosers, he told himself.<p>

Things were pretty quiet, which was partly due to the fact that it was a Wednesday night – well, Thursday morning now. The big crises at Rainier seemed to happen on the weekends, fallout from parties and dates gone bad. Which isn't to say they never got weeknight calls, but those were usually from kids who were on the edge of burnout from over-packed schedules and too many activities. Blair could totally relate.

When the call came, he was the only one manning the phones while Bill took another lengthy cigarette break outside. He slipped the headset on and pressed the red button on the little box that was plugged into the phone.

"Crisis Center, this is Blair."

There was silence on the other end of the line, though he was sure he could hear someone breathing. That wasn't unusual. Sometimes people lost courage once they'd dialed the phone.

"I just want to help," he said as soothingly as he could. "Whatever you're going through right now may be difficult, but it can help to talk it out."

There was a loud exhalation of air, but still the caller didn't talk. Blair nodded, making notes in the log book.

"That's okay. You don't have to talk. Believe me, I can do plenty of talking for the both of us. Let me tell you a little about me. I'm a grad student here at Rainier, which I know sounds pretty glamorous but trust me, it's a lot of work. I teach some classes, take some classes, and generally spend most of my life here on campus. It gets me a little down sometimes, you know? Seems like all I do is grade papers, write papers, and do research."

Blair paused, waiting to see if the caller would say anything. They didn't, but the fact that they hadn't hung up yet was a good sign. He kept going.

"Tell you what, I've learned to do without much sleep. Sometimes I don't remember what sleep even is, my schedule is so full. If I didn't like what I do so much I'd probably have bailed by now. It's important to love your work. What kind of work do you do?"

There was a sigh. "Used to be a cop."

Blair mentally high fived himself for getting the guy to talk, even as he registered the fact that this wasn't a college student calling in. The Crisis Center was created to serve the community at Rainier, though it wasn't unheard of for someone outside of the university to call from time to time.

"Used to be? What happened?"

"Can't do my job anymore."

Blair focused on the tone of the words, his only clue about how this guy was feeling. There was a lot of emotion just under the surface, he could hear it. The guy liked his job, liked it a lot, and was taking the loss pretty hard.

"Why's that?" he asked. "I know budgets are tight all over these days, a lot of people are being laid off."

"Medical leave." Those two words were steeped in so much bitterness that Blair winced in sympathy. He made more notes.

"Were you injured on the job?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. Everything's so screwed up right now."

There was nothing but hopelessness in his voice and it set off Blair's internal alarm system. He sincerely hoped this guy wasn't suicidal; he'd never had to deal with one of those calls, and he was scared of saying the wrong thing.

"I know it must feel that way. It always does when you're in the middle of things. But you need to trust me, man. Things always get better. You just need to wait it out."

"This isn't going to get better, Chief."

"Can you tell me what the medical leave is for? Cause I gotta tell you, I know a lot of people who've suffered life-changing injuries and they felt just like you for a while. Now they've gotten back to a good, happy place in their lives."

There was a lengthy pause at the other end of the phone, and Blair could hear a sloshy sound. Was this guy drinking? That was never good. It was harder to reason with drunk people. When he started talking again, his voice was laced with anger and frustration.

"The doctors don't know what's wrong with me. No-one does."

Oh, man. Like the threat of losing his job wasn't enough, this guy had to deal with a mysterious illness as well. Blair firmly believed that some people were born under a bad sign, and that might be the case for his caller.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked. He needed to get a deeper connection with this guy, remind him that he was someone special. The pause was longer this time and Blair was almost certain the guy was going to hang up. He was relieved to be wrong.

"Jim."

"It's nice to meet you, Jim. My name's Blair, in case you missed that part before. You must be feeling pretty low, Jim. I don't blame you. Losing your job, dealing with an illness…either of those things can be stressful, and having to deal with both at the same time must be incredibly difficult for you."

The ambient noises coming through the headset told Blair this guy was mobile. Walking maybe. He wanted to ask Jim about his family, see if he had a support system he could turn to, but something told him he didn't. Why else call a complete stranger? If he was a cop, then chances were that his closest friends were cops too. Closed society dynamics at work.

"I'm just so tired," Jim said softly.

Blair's heart jumped into his throat. "Oh, hey now. You can't let this overwhelm you, Jim. I've been where you are, feeling like everything is just too much to handle. Wishing there was an easy answer or a quick fix. It can be hard to see the big picture when you're in a dark place, but you have to believe it's there. All you have to do is shine some light on it."

"What happened to you?" Jim asked, sounding honestly curious.

"I was a sixteen-year-old college Freshman," Blair said with a wry chuckle. "Thought I knew everything, thought I was ready to be my own man. By the time the first semester was over I was floundering. I had no friends, a schedule that could make grown men cry, and I was pushing myself hard to get the best grades. I was freaking out, man, and I got pretty low. Started drinking. A lot. My grades started slipping, which just made things worse."

He could remember that time all too well. He left out the part where he'd been so desperate to talk to his mother, but she was out of the country and unreachable by phone even though she'd promised to stay stateside for at least his first year of school. She hadn't been there when he needed her and even though he still loved her, he'd never really gotten over that.

"What did you do?"

"My advisor dragged me to the Crisis Center, made me sit down with a counselor. I fought it the whole way, but it really helped. It took some time, but things got better for me after that. Just having someone to talk to, someone who didn't judge me, was a big help."

"And now you work there?"

"Just a volunteer one day a week. It's my way to pay it forward, you know?"

"I had some counseling," Jim said tentatively. "When I came back from Peru. But it didn't help."

"Peru? Pretty country down there."

"You've been?"

"Once. On an expedition. I'm an anthropologist, and I joined a group that was studying one of the native tribes. Why were you there?"

"Army. I was a Ranger. Eight of us went there, covert mission, but our chopper crashed and I was the only one who made it."

That set Blair's brain twitching. Why did that story sound so familiar? "That's really rough, man. Must've been hard for you."

"Survivor's guilt, that's what they said. I don't know. I don't really remember anything from my time there. Eighteen months, just gone."

Light bulb! Blair could picture it in his head now, the cover of News Update with the shell-shocked photo of the G.I. that had been thought dead and discovered alive in the jungles of Peru after eighteen months living among the native people. Captain James Ellison. Now he had a face to go with the name, and even more sympathy for the sad voice on the other end of the phone.

"It's not unusual to repress memories of trauma," Blair said. "It's a coping mechanism. The fact that you survived, that you were able to make a life for yourself, says a lot about your strength of character. Did you have trouble adjusting once you got back?"

"No. Not really. I was discharged from the Army, and went through the police academy. I like being a cop." Jim sounded wistful. "I like taking scum off the streets. I like doing my part to make Cascade safe."

"You like to serve and protect." Blair jotted that down. "That's a good thing. But often protectors are doing their job so well for others that they neglect themselves. You have to make yourself a priority too, Jim. You deserve it as much as anyone else."

"I know…" Jim's words were cut off and replaced by the keening sound of someone in incredible pain. Blair gripped the pen in his hand so hard his knuckles turned white and his fingernails dug into his palm.

"Jim? Jim, what's happening?"

"…lights…"

"Listen to my voice, Jim." Blair spoke as quietly and calmly as he could. "I'm here, right here, and I want to help. Can you hear me? Tell me what's going on."

Jim was panting for breath now. "Hurts."

"Jim, you need to calm down. Take a deep breath. Can you do that for me? Big breath in, let it out slowly." Blair listened as Jim did just that, until eventually he'd gotten himself under control again.

"Sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry, Jim. Can you tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?"

"No. Car headlights. Hurt my eyes. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid at all, and you shouldn't feel that way." Blair made more notes; he was filling up the pad. "Is this part of your medical condition? Light sensitivity?"

"Yeah. And everything else."

"What else, Jim?"

"Everything is sensitive now. My hearing, my sense of smell. My damned clothes feel like sandpaper sometimes. I can't sleep, I can't eat. It just keeps getting worse."

Blair was aware that his mouth had dropped open but he wasn't inclined to shut it. What were the odds? All these years trying to find someone with five heightened senses and coming up empty every single time, only to have him call in on the hotline. On the one night of the week that he was on the phones.

"How are you feeling right now, Jim?"

"I'm okay, I guess. Until the next thing. There's always a next thing. I can't keep going like this." The hopelessness was back, and Blair could understand it better now. Poor guy probably thought he was losing his mind. Medical science certainly wasn't going to help him.

"Jim, listen to me. I don't know if you'll believe this, but your condition…I know what it is. I can help you."

"How can you know? None of the doctors I've seen can tell me anything." Suspicion now.

"Remember I told you I was an anthropologist?"

"So?"

"So, there was this explorer named Sir Richard Burton. Not the actor. He wrote a book about Sentinels. Basically, these are people with a genetic predisposition towards heightened senses. They were like watchmen for native tribes, highly revered."

"Heightened senses?"

"They could see farther than anyone else. Literally hear a pin drop. They used all of their senses to detect changes in weather patterns. They could easily track the location of game, or enemies. They kept their tribe safe. Remember we were talking about protectors? Well, Sentinels were the ultimate protectors."

Blair abandoned the Crisis Center log, fumbling madly for his backpack and the journal he kept inside. This was it! This was his holy grail having a breakdown on the other end of the phone.

"You're saying I'm some kind of freak," Jim replied flatly.

Blair felt himself flush with anger. "Don't you dare say that! You're not a freak, Jim. You're a _gift_. You just need to get control over your senses, learn to use them. You're a cop with a built-in forensics lab. Think about that."

There was a lengthy silence then and Blair hoped he hadn't scared the guy off. He felt bad for Jim, as thrilled as he was to have finally found a true Sentinel. The guy had been through a lot, and was clearly suffering right now. It was no wonder he was taking the medical leave so hard; he was hard-wired to protect the people of his tribe, in this case the citizens of Cascade. Having that taken away from him would be a huge blow, particularly since he didn't understand why.

"Jim, are you still with me man?"

"Yeah."

Blair breathed a sigh of relief. "Look, do you have family or friends you can go to? You shouldn't be alone right now. Sentinels can have these things I call zone-outs, which come from focusing too much on one sense. Kind of like a blackout. It can be really dangerous."

"No." It wasn't much of a response and Blair pondered what it meant. Was he denying the zones? Or the danger of them? Or maybe he was saying that he had no family or friends, that he was alone. Blair wondered if he should worry about how protective he was feeling towards this man he hadn't even met.

"No?"

"I'm not easy to get along with," Jim said by way of explanation. The self-deprecation in his voice was heartbreaking. It was almost unbelievable, coming from an ex-Army Ranger and a cop; he'd have expected arrogance, belligerence. Even outright anger. But not this quiet acceptance.

"I don't buy that. I think we're getting along just fine."

"My ex-wife says I'm cold and distant."

"One woman's opinion," Blair countered. He didn't believe the cold for one minute, though he could see distant. Something had happened to Jim at some point in his life to make him especially protective of himself. What had it cost him to call the Crisis Center tonight? Desperate measures. The whole cry-for-help thing could be a cliché, but Blair knew that's what this was. He couldn't help but feel that he was Jim's last chance, and the responsibility of that was enormous.

"Do you have family, Chief?"

"My mom. She travels a lot, though, so I don't see her much. An aunt and uncle in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Don't know anything about my dad."

"It's hard, sometimes," Jim said softly. "Not having anyone you can count on."

Blair swallowed down his automatic denial. He couldn't deny that his mother wasn't the most trustworthy person. He rarely knew where she was, much less how to get hold of her in case of an emergency. His aunt and uncle were good people, but they didn't have a lot of contact either. He recognized the loneliness in Jim's voice, felt the echo of it in himself.

"It doesn't have to be that way, Jim. We have the power to make positive changes in our lives. I'm not saying it's not hard work, but you owe it to yourself to at least try."

"I'm just so tired," Jim said again. "Do you think…"

Blair listened intently, heard the exhaustion in the other man's voice.

"What, Jim? Do I think what?"

"Do you think I could just zone out and…stay zoned? Do you think it's like a coma?"

Blair's breath caught in his throat. "No. No! Jim, that's not the answer."

"It's not like anyone's gonna care," Jim replied matter-of-factly.

The bell in the clock tower started chiming the hour, and Blair could hear it both overhead and through the phone. Jim must be close by. Was he on campus somewhere?

"Jim? Jim, where are you?"

There was no response, but he could still hear the other man breathing.

"Jim, listen to me. I can help you. If you get your senses under control you can go back to work. Things will get better, I promise they will. Sentinels, they have a helper. A partner that teaches them to hone their abilities, and watch their backs. You need a partner, Jim."

Still no response, and Blair was afraid maybe there wouldn't be. Had he zoned? Dropped the phone? He could hear some kind of background noise, but it wasn't clear and it wasn't Jim breathing; he couldn't hear that at all now.

"Jim!"

Bill came strolling through the door and if Blair wasn't so worried he'd have reamed the guy out for being away from the phones. It didn't take that long to smoke a damn cigarette. He gave Blair a questioning look but was waved off.

"Jim, are you still with me? Damn it!" Blair swept the headset off his head and threw it on the desk. If Jim was on campus, what were the chances he could find him?

"Rough call?" Bill asked.

"Yeah. Where the hell have you been?"

He had the good sense to look contrite. "Sorry. I got talking with Kristy the night guard."

Blair ran a hand through his curly hair, yanking savagely at a knot. Could he leave Bill in charge and go looking for Jim? There were supposed to be two people on duty at all times, not that the other man seemed to care much about that.

"Listen, Bill, I have to go. It's an emergency."

"Yeah, sure. No problem." Bill sat behind the second desk. "Oh, if you see Kristy tell her that there's some drunk guy passed out by the fountain."

"What?"

"There's some drunk guy…"

But Blair didn't wait to hear the rest. He grabbed his backpack, tore out the door, down the hall and a flight of stairs, and out into the night. There were lamps lit at intervals along the walkways, wide pools of shadow between them, and Blair was thankful he didn't have to stumble around in the dark. He ran for the fountain that burbled cheerfully in front of Hargrove Hall, where his own office was. As he got closer he could see someone sitting in front of it, back against the grey stone and knees drawn up.

There wasn't as much light here, but Blair got close enough to see that it was Jim Ellison. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes vacant. His cell phone was clutched in one hand, and that hand rested against his shoulder.

"Jim? You better not have done this on purpose, you asshole." Blair dropped to his knees, knocking aside an empty beer bottle, and patted the other man on the cheek. "Come on, time to come back. Listen to my voice, Jim. Follow it back."

He was unaccountably close to tears. How could this man think that no-one cared what happened to him? He looked so vulnerable like this, so easily damaged. Blair wanted to cover him up, hide him away from anyone who would hurt him. He didn't know Jim Ellison, not really, but his instincts were telling him this was a good man, a man who deserved so much more than life had given him.

"Jim, knock this shit off and wake up!" Blair rubbed the other man's arms, as if trying to warm him up. "Listen to me, Jim. Come on back now."

And then suddenly there was life in those pale blue eyes again and Jim took a deep, shuddering breath. Blair let out his own shaky breath and ran a hand over his face.

"Oh, man, you scared the life out of me!"

"What?" Jim asked, looking confused. "Blair?"

"Yeah." He rocked back a bit, letting the other man have some of his personal space back. "Jim, I presume?"

"What happened?"

"You zoned, man. And if you did it on purpose I'm going to beat the _shit_ out of you."

Jim offered him a weak grin. "Does the Crisis Center authorize the use of violence?"

"I'm willing to make an exception in your case." Blair studied him, looking for signs of guilt. Jim seemed to know what he was thinking and shook his head.

"It was the clock. The bell."

"Oh. Well, okay. You know, you zoned before I could tell you something important."

"What's that?"

Blair put his hands gently on either side of Jim's face. "I care what happens to you."

And it was the absolute truth. Maybe some of it was due to having finally found a Sentinel, but mostly it was just that Blair recognized something of himself in this damaged, lonely man. He needed Blair, and Blair needed to be needed. Tears sprang up in Jim's eyes.

"You do?"

"I do." Blair dropped his hands. "Listen, there's an all-night diner just down the road. You want to get something to eat? Maybe talk some more?"

"Okay."

They helped each other up. "It's a good thing you came to Rainier, Jim. If you'd zoned somewhere else, there's no telling what might have happened."

Jim shrugged. "Just followed your voice, I guess."

Blair looked at him quick and then dropped his gaze. When the time was right he'd tell the Sentinel about the partnership idea, since he'd missed it the first time around. They'd been brought together for a reason, he really believed that.

"How do you feel about pancakes?"

"I feel pretty good about them," Jim replied with a half smile.

"They make excellent pancakes at this place," Blair promised. "The banana walnut ones are to die for."

"I'm more of a blueberry man."

"Takes all kinds," Blair joked. They walked side by side down the concrete path. "I'm really glad you called, Jim."

"Me too." His reply was almost too low for Blair to hear, but the emotion came through loud and clear. He had a feeling that his life was about to change, and he hoped he was ready for it.

"So, I have this idea about dials…"

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> Everyone gets a little low now and again. And I thought that if Jim hadn't met Blair when he did, when his senses were just starting to go wonky, that maybe he'd eventually hit that rock bottom place too. There's only so much one man can take, right? But, just like always, Blair is there to put him back on the right path. I love these guys!_


	17. Weighty Ghost

**Weighty Ghost**, by Wintersleep

_I got out of bed today  
>Swear to God couldn't see my face<br>I got out of bed today  
>Staring at a ghost<em>

_Who forgot to float away_  
><em>Didn't have all that much to say<em>  
><em>Wouldn't even tell me his own name<em>  
><em>And where'd my body go<em>

_Well where'd my body go_  
><em>Africa or Mexico<em>  
><em>Oh where'd my body go<em>  
><em>And where'd my body go<em>

_Oh have you seen my ghost_  
><em>Seen my ghost, seen my ghost<em>  
><em>Oh have you seen my ghost<em>  
><em>Staring at the ground<em>

_Oh have you seen my ghost_  
><em>Seen my ghost, seen my ghost<em>  
><em>Oh have you seen my ghost<em>  
><em>Sick of those goddamn clouds<em>

_Are you some kind of medicine man_  
><em>Cut the demons out of my head<em>  
><em>You can't kill something that's already dead<em>  
><em>Just leave my soul alone<em>

_I don't need no surgery_  
><em>Take those knives away from me<em>  
><em>Just wanna die in my own body<em>  
><em>A ghost just needs a home<em>

_Oh have you seen my ghost_  
><em>Seen my ghost, seen my ghost<em>  
><em>Oh have you seen my ghost<em>  
><em>Staring at the ground<em>

_Oh have you seen my ghost_  
><em>Seen my ghost, seen my ghost<em>  
><em>Oh have you seen my ghost<em>  
><em>Sick of those goddamn clouds<em>

* * *

><p>Blair looks at himself in the mirror and finds nothing familiar. Dead blue eyes look back at him, the bruise around one still fresh. It should hurt, but he feels nothing. There are lines in his face that never used to be there, and his lips are pinched and white. Empty holes in his ears, empty eyes in his head, and he's starting to wonder if this is all a mistake. This isn't him. He's sure of it.<p>

"You fall in?" Jim calls from the hallway, waiting for his turn in the bathroom.

Blair just continues to stare at the stranger in the mirror, cataloguing all the differences. Of course, there are things that don't show in the reflection; things like roiling anger and desperation and the knowledge that everything is wrong, has been wrong, continues to be wrong. He thinks about hurting someone. No, not just someone - himself. Would he feel it, he wonders? Nothing inside seems to make it to the surface. He doesn't think he can feel anything anymore, not in any of the ways that matter.

"Blair? You okay?"

Jim won't let him hurt himself, Blair knows this. Not physically, anyway. But he's been hurting where no-one can see, where even Sentinel senses can't go.

"Just a ghost," he mutters to himself. "An echo."

And of course his Sentinel hears that and comes through the door, without even a cursory knock or a warning. Jim still looks like Jim, which is a bit of a relief. Same strong jaw, same strong body, but there's a worried look in those eyes that has taken up permanent residence. Blair has seen it many times over the years, but never as much as he's been seeing it lately.

"You okay, Chief?"

"Can you see me?" he asks, his voice hollow to his ears. He watches Jim in the mirror, sees confusion warring with concern.

"Of course I can see you."

"This isn't _me_, Jim," he says, leaning forward a bit for a closer look. "This is someone else."

"I knew I should've taken you to the hospital," Jim says. He starts touching the back of Blair's head, looking for an injury. "Did the guy with the bat hit you? Jesus, I should've asked that right off."

Blair leans back just a bit into the touch of gentle fingers on his head. This he can feel and he thinks he knows why. Which just goes to prove his theory.

"I died," he says. Jim freezes, his whole face blanking out. Blair watches it happen in the mirror. This is the one subject on which they never speak, and that's been part of the problem. Speaking of a thing makes it real, and he knows that Jim doesn't want that to be real, doesn't want to remember anything about that day at all, or what came after.

"Blair, please."

"You thought you brought me back, Jim, but you didn't. This isn't _me_." Blair gestures at his reflection. "This is just a ghost. Look at it. _Really_ look at it."

"You're _not_ a ghost, Sandburg." Jim pulls his hands away, his face getting angry now, which is better than blank and shuttered. It's important that Jim still be able to feel, and he's always been comfortable with anger. It's painfully normal.

"I wanted to kill that kid," Blair says. He leans forward again, bracing himself on the sink. "I could have drowned him. It doesn't take long. I know."

Jim winces and looks away.

"The old me wouldn't have wanted that, man. The _real_ me. What you brought back, it's not good. It's been tainted somehow."

"There's _nothing_ wrong with you," Jim insists. "Hell, even I wanted to kill Ventriss. It's normal, especially after what he put you through."

He puts his hand on Blair's shoulder, and the heat from Jim's palm leeches down through his shirt and into his skin. He thinks Jim is the only thing keeping him here, keeping him close to real. Anchoring him to a body that feels foreign to him now.

"Most days I feel nothing. Other days, I'm so angry I can hardly breathe."

"Chief…"

"There's nothing left inside here, Jim." Blair hits himself on the chest. "I'm a ghost that didn't have the good sense to float away."

Jim turns him around, pulls his gaze from the mirror, and squeezes his shoulders tightly. Everything about Jim is tight – his grip, the set of his mouth, his posture. "Snap out of it! You're not a _ghost_! You're just…it's just been a bad few weeks. But we'll get _through_ it."

Blair wants to believe that, but he's seen the evidence. There are holes in his ear and holes in his life, and he doesn't know what to fill them up with anymore. Everything that ever made sense to him was washed away in the fountain, just as he was. The ground under his feet is uneven and he can't catch his footing. He realizes he must've said some of that out loud because Jim's eyes are full of anguish and guilt and fear, his grip tightening enough that there will be bruises on Blair's shoulders later. More bruises.

"I'll help you," Jim says softly. "I'll help you find your way. Just…stay with me."

"Why?" Blair asks, honestly curious. "Why do you still want me? I'm dead inside, Jim."

There's a look on his face that Blair can't read. He waits patiently for a response, needing one in a way he hasn't really needed anything lately. When it finally comes, it's said in a voice so low and so hushed that he almost misses it.

"Then I'll bring you back. Like last time."

Before Blair can comment on that, Jim is tugging him forward and bending down and kissing him…kissing him…right on the lips…kissing him…breathing his air and his love and his desperation into Blair's lungs…kissing him…and Blair can feel everything now, his skin is practically on fire. He wraps his arms around Jim's neck and clings there, never wanting to let go, never wanting to lose the feeling of just _feeling_.

"You're not dead," Jim says when he breaks the kiss. His voice is rough and edged with tears, his head pressed against Blair's so he can't see his face. "Because if you were, I'd be dead too. And we wouldn't be having this stupid conversation."

A laugh bubbles out of Blair, much to his surprise. It is followed by another and another until his laughter turns to weeping, as if Jim has lanced something deep inside him to release all the fear and anger that has been festering there. He holds tightly to the fabric of Jim's shirt and lets it all out, his face pressed against the other man's neck and turning the skin there salty with tears.

"I'm sorry, Blair," Jim murmurs against the top of his head. "I'm sorry I didn't _see_."

Blair can't get any words past the thick obstruction in his throat, so he just shakes his head. Jim is the only one who ever really saw him, and so he thinks he was right about that at least. He exists because Jim wants him to exist, needs him to exist.

When the tears finally stop, Jim turns him gently so that they're both facing the mirror again. Blair's hair has come loose and is hanging in his face in a way that it hasn't in a long time. Jim tucks it behind his ears with gentle fingers.

"Look again, Chief. You're still here."

And Blair does look, he looks hard. Jim is right. His eyes are red, but there's life in them again. There are still holes in his ears, but now he knows that the holes in his life can be filled as they once were; with friendship and partnership and purpose. With Jim.

"We'll talk, okay? About anything you want. Even…even Alex."

Blair knows what a big thing that is for Jim to say, can hear that he means it. He closes his eyes and takes a moment to just let it all sink in, to feel the truth of it in his skin and in his heart. He turns, done with the mirror.

"I'm here as long as you want me," he says.

"I want you forever," Jim replies without hesitation.

"Okay." And then there is more kissing, and who knew Jim had so much life bottled up inside him, ready to share? Blair drinks it in, revels in it, cleanses his soul with it. Maybe he's been a ghost because Jim hadn't finished that day he'd brought him back. Not a ghost, then, just incomplete. He's never felt so real, so solid, as he does right at this moment.

"How long have you been holding that inside?" Blair asks, stroking his hands up and down Jim's back, enjoying the feel of muscle and strength.

"Too long."

"Thank you for sharing it with me," Blair says.

"It's always been yours."

And he doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing. Just basks in the glow of the amazing gift his friend has given him. They stand there a long time, holding each other up. Holding each other together.

"I was going to make pancakes," Jim says after a long while.

"I can make some bacon," Blair offers.

Life returns to normal, but it's a new normal where Blair and Jim hold hands as they leave the bathroom, and exchange kisses while they cook.

"I love you," Jim whispers. It's no longer one of the unsaid things, and Blair feels the last hole in his life filling in when he hears it.

"I love you too, big guy," he whispers back.

Later they will sit on the couch, holding each other while they talk of all the other things that have remained unsaid for too long. Redefining their lives and further shaping the new normal. Setting free all the ghosts that have been living between them until there's nothing left but life. And love.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> Listened to this song a lot today, and this weird little fic popped into my head. Seemed fitting for Blair, who really didn't act like himself very much in season four of the series. I set it after the Murder 101 ep, because he was so, so angry and that wasn't like him either. Made sense that maybe he was feeling changed after the events of the fountain._

_I apologize for the shortness, but they can't all be epics! LOL! I have a songfic-in-progress right now that's already over 30 pages long with no end in sight. So it's nice to write something tiny every now and again. ::grins::_


	18. You Can't Always Get What You Want

**You Can't Always Get What You Want,** The Rolling Stones

_I saw her today at the reception_  
><em>A glass of wine in her hand<em>  
><em>I knew she was gonna meet her connection<em>  
><em>At her feet was a footloose man<em>

_You can't always get what you want_  
><em>You can't always get what you want<em>  
><em>You can't always get what you want<em>  
><em>But if you try sometimes well you might find<em>  
><em>You get what you need<em>

_And I went down to the demonstration_  
><em>To get my fair share of abuse<em>  
><em>Singing, "We're gonna vent our frustration<em>  
><em>If we don't we're gonna blow a 50-amp fuse"<em>

_You can't always get what you want_  
><em>You can't always get what you want<em>  
><em>You can't always get what you want<em>  
><em>But if you try sometimes well you just might find<em>  
><em>You get what you need<em>

_I went down to the Chelsea drugstore_  
><em>To get your prescription filled<em>  
><em>I was standing in line with Mr. Jimmy<em>  
><em>And man, did he look pretty ill<em>  
><em>We decided that we would have a soda<em>  
><em>My favorite flavor, cherry red<em>  
><em>I sung my song to Mr. Jimmy<em>  
><em>Yeah, and he said one word to me, and that was "dead"<em>  
><em>I said to him<em>

_You can't always get what you want_  
><em>You can't always get what you want<em>  
><em>You can't always get what you want<em>  
><em>But if you try sometimes you just might find<em>  
><em>You get what you need<em>

_You get what you need-yeah, oh baby_

_I saw her today at the reception_  
><em>In her glass was a bleeding man<em>  
><em>She was practiced at the art of deception<em>  
><em>Well I could tell by her blood-stained hands<em>

_You can't always get what you want_  
><em>You can't always get what you want<em>  
><em>You can't always get what you want<em>  
><em>But if you try sometimes you just might find<em>  
><em>You just might find<em>  
><em>You get what you need<em>

_You can't always get what you want_  
><em>You can't always get what you want<em>  
><em>You can't always get what you want<em>  
><em>But if you try sometimes you just might find<em>  
><em>You just might find<em>  
><em>You get what you need<em>

* * *

><p>Jim lay stretched out on the couch, his feet in Blair's lap in anticipation of a foot rub. He'd been conducting witness interviews all day in the Warren district – on foot – and he was tired. He didn't miss being a beat cop, especially on days like today. Blair pulled his partner's left sock off and tossed it on the floor. He started working his fingers along the arch of Jim's foot.<p>

"How's that feel, big guy?"

"Good." Jim sat up enough to take a swallow of beer and then lay back down. "I'm never doing that again. From now on I delegate all pounding of the pavement to you."

Blair snorted. "Yeah, right. I'm not a cop, remember?"

"Oh, so now you'll admit it." Jim grinned. "How come you never remember that when you follow me into gun fights?"

"Selective memory, man."

"Right." He closed his eyes, already feeling more relaxed and loose. That was partially from the beer, but mostly due to the careful ministrations of his partner. The firm pressure on his foot, the easy banter – it was all the little things that made the biggest difference. _He'll make someone a great husband some day_, Jim thought in amusement.

"You falling asleep on me, Jim?"

"Not yet. Hey, Sandburg. You ever think about settling down and having a family?"

Blair chuckled and pulled one of Jim's toes, popping the joint. "Is that a proposal? You gonna make an honest man out of me?"

"I tried that and failed miserably. You're barely housebroken most days." They both laughed at that, but Jim was trying to be serious. He and Blair had an on-again, off-again physical relationship, though the only reason it ever seemed to be off was that one or the other of them got nervous about how serious things were getting. Jim was a bit leery of commitment after the way his marriage had tanked so spectacularly, and for the moment casual was good. He liked keeping things easy, especially with Blair. Nobody did casual like a Sandburg.

"So, what? You want to know if I want to meet a nice girl, settle down, have kids? Man, that's so establishment." Blair slid Jim's other foot out of its sock. "The so-called American dream. Two and a half kids, the house in the 'burbs with the picket fence and the friendly dog and the kooky neighbor? No thanks."

Jim propped himself up on his elbows, searching Blair's face for signs of a lie. But everything he could see and hear told him that his friend meant exactly what he said. Which isn't what Jim expected at all.

"I just thought, you know, that you'd…"

Blair smirked. "That because of the way I grew up I'd want something different? I've got news for you, pal, I have that already."

"What? This?"

"Yes, _this_." He flung out his arm. "If by _this_ you mean a stable home, an interesting job, and friends I can count on. Trust me, this is pretty much my idea of the American dream."

"Yeah, but don't you want a family?" Jim didn't know why he was suddenly so insistent on this, but he couldn't seem to stop pushing the issue. He reached for his beer bottle, suddenly anxious for something else to be doing.

Blair stopped massaging for a moment and gave him a hard look. "What's with you today?"

"Nothing." Jim tried for a nonchalant shrug, which ended up being more lopsided since he was still supporting himself on one elbow.

"Well, I have a family. It may not be an Ozzie and Harriet deal, but it works for me." Blair gave him one more narrow-eyed look before focusing back on his feet. "You and Naomi and Simon…that's all the family I need."

Jim swallowed around the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat, telling himself it was just swollen lymph nodes. Hadn't Rhonda been coughing at work today? "But what about kids?"

"Jesus, Jim!" Blair threw his hands up in the air, clearly exasperated. Jim flopped back down on the couch and stared at the ceiling.

"I just wondered, is all," he muttered, and wished he could stop his mouth from opening and asking more stupid questions. "You'd make a really good dad."

"You are the most…really? You think so?"

"Sure. Look how well you take care of me. As you so often point out, I'm just a big baby." Jim was relieved to get back to the banter. Deflect with humor; he could get behind that.

Blair resumed the foot massage, popping more toes. "I don't want kids bad enough, I guess. I mean, I always felt there should be a really good reason for having them, you know? An expression of love between two people, the honest desire to create a life that will hopefully one day benefit the world somehow. Having one just to have one? I'm not doing that."

"Is this because you don't know who your dad is?" Jim asked, honestly curious. He'd always thought his partner would want all those "normal" things – wife, kids, minivan. It was surprising to hear that it wasn't so.

"Partly," Blair admitted. "If I'm going to start a family with someone, I want to be _part_ of that family. I don't want to be a hit and run dad, sending my genetic material out into the world and hoping for the best."

"I can't argue with that. But you know, Chief, if you stay with me…well, your chances of fatherhood go way, way down."

"Being a father is not the be-all and end-all of my existence, Jim," Blair said patiently. "Besides, if we ever got to a point in our lives where having children was really important, there are other options out there. Adoption, foster care, surrogates."

"Or you could have one, like that guy that was on Oprah."

"Since when do you watch Oprah?"

"I didn't say I watch Oprah. I just said he was on it," Jim said defensively. So, okay, maybe he'd watched a little. Rafe had put it on at the station one day and they'd all boggled at the pregnant guy sitting on Oprah's couch.

"Hate to break it to you, man, but that guy was a girl."

"What? No, he wasn't. I mean, he wasn't the most masculine looking guy, sure, but he was definitely a guy."

Blair shook his head, grinning. "He was living as a guy. Taking the hormones, doing the breast reduction thing. But the plumbing was all girl. I know you were a medic in the Army, and generally you're a pretty smart guy, but here's something you may not know – men don't have a uterus. No uterus, no baby."

Jim frowned. That story suddenly became a whole lot less interesting. There was no way anyone was calling themselves a guy if they didn't have the dangly parts to back it up.

"So it was a hoax?"

"Not a hoax, exactly, they just tried to make it more than it was. He admitted to being transgender, which is more of a gender affiliation thing. Born a woman but identifying more strongly with the characteristics of a man."

"So if he wanted to be a man so bad, he should've had that…whatchacallit…gender reassignment surgery." Jim shuddered at the thought of it. He supposed he should be glad he was born a man and liked being one. The alternative was frightening to say the least.

"If I remember correctly, he said he wanted to keep his female reproductive organs specifically so he could have a baby one day. Best of both worlds, I guess."

"Would you do it, if you could?" Jim asked. "Have a baby, I mean?"

Blair stared at him. "Are you crazy? Why would I want to do that?"

"I don't know. I figured all the hippies you used to hang around with would be into that sort of thing. Give the guys a chance to be nurturers, or whatever." Jim tried to picture Blair with a big, pregnant belly, but just couldn't do it. The idea was absurd.

"I'm not having a baby for you, Jim," Blair protested with a shake of his head. "I don't care what miracles modern medicine comes up with, I'm saying no right now. Just because I have long hair and a kinder, gentler personality than _some_ people I know does _not_ make me the woman in this relationship."

"I didn't say that!"

"Furthermore, if you want someone who looks and acts like a woman, you ought to stop messing around with me because I'm all man, man. I'm not gonna knit you sweaters and nurse babies and wring my hands while I wait for you to make decisions for me." Blair was gesturing emphatically, and Jim could see he was getting all worked up about it. "I want to be with someone who sees me as an equal, not some damsel in distress who always needs rescuing. And do _not_ bring up all the times you've had to do that, or so help me I will smother you in your sleep."

Jim held up his hands in surrender. "Calm down, Chief! I was just joking around."

"Well, it's not a joke to me." Blair's face and body language easily telegraphed his anger, and his hurt. "You think it was easy growing up with my name? I mean, it was fine around the hippies. When you run around with kids named Moonbeam and Sparrow, Blair doesn't seem so unusual. But there were plenty of other kids who thought that it should only be a girl's name. You don't even want to know how many fights I used to get into as a kid, trying to prove I wasn't a sissy."

"Come on, Chief." Jim could picture that all too well in his head, a young Sandburg fighting to show he was a man.

"You think I don't know what some of the cops at the station say about me? How I'm the girl in whatever relationship they imagine we have? But if you think that way too…"

Jim swung his legs off the couch and sat up, grabbing Blair's hands in his. "Of course I don't think that! And I'm sorry if you feel that way. Of course I see you as an equal. Hell, I know I don't deserve you, in any capacity."

"You don't need to stroke my ego," Blair replied dryly. But he wrapped his fingers around Jim's.

"I'm not stroking your ego, Sandburg. I'm just saying, you're a good man. And that's all I ever want you to be. If you don't want all the traditional family trappings, that fine. I don't want that either. It didn't work out for me the last time." Jim leaned his forehead against Blair's. "I just want to be sure this is what you want."

"Jim." Blair squeezed Jim's hands. "I never _wanted_ any of this. But you know what? I _need_ it. I need _you_. This is the life I chose for myself, and I don't have any regrets about it."

That lump was back in Jim's throat, but he didn't care. He pressed his lips to Blair's, tasting him, marking him, melting into him. He was right; this wasn't anything Jim had ever wanted – Sentinel senses, an anthropologist partner riding with him to crime scenes and living in his house, that same partner often visiting his bed and offering him a different sort of comfort – but he needed it now like he needed oxygen.

"Tell you what, big guy," Blair said when they pulled back from the kiss and settled into a more cuddly position on the couch. "You get feeling like we need to have kids, and we'll get a pet. Kind of a test run."

"A dog?" Jim asked hopefully.

"We're not home enough to take care of a dog. They have to be walked regularly, you know. How about a cat?"

"Ugh. Litter box."

Blair laughed. "Goldfish?"

"I might be able to tolerate a goldfish."

"Well, I'm glad that's settled."

They sat in silence for a while, just enjoying being together and having nothing much they needed to do. For Jim this was the ultimate expression of home; his loft and his Blair.

"You know, Chief, I've been thinking."

"I don't know how much more of that I can take tonight," Blair quipped.

"Laugh it up, Junior. I'm having a serious moment here."

"Another one? Okay, okay, I'm listening."

"I just think…maybe we don't need to be so casual about stuff. You know, you and me."

"_Stuff?_ Is that your euphemism for sex? What is this, fifth grade?"

Jim poked him in the ribs. "Yes, sex. Okay? I think…I think I'd like it if you moved upstairs. You know. Permanently."

Blair was quiet for a moment, long enough that Jim started to worry he'd said the wrong thing. He thought he'd gotten a good vibe while they were talking, but maybe he'd been mistaken.

"Blair, I…"

"Are you serious? Cause if you're messing with me…"

"I know, I know. You'll smother me in my sleep. Yes, I'm serious." He held his breath, waiting.

"Do I get closet space?"

Jim let his breath out with a snort. "I didn't realize negotiations would be involved. Yes, closet space and dresser space and hey, what the heck, even half the bed."

"That sounds too good to refuse. Sure, I'll move upstairs."

"Well, okay then." And Jim couldn't help the goofy grin that spread across his face at the thought of getting to sleep next to his best friend and partner every night. Sometimes he got awful lonely in that big bed.

"Does this mean we're going steady?"

"Sure. You want to go slip into your poodle skirt?"

"Ha ha. Clearly you didn't listen to anything I had to say tonight. I guess I'll just have to show you what a real man I am." Blair moved quick as lightning, and straddled Jim's lap.

"Bring it on, tough guy," Jim challenged. And really, there were no losers in that scenario at all.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> WitchWarren, this is for you. ::grins:: I was telling hubby about our mpreg conversation and he said I should write a fic about my thoughts on it. Of course I don't want to cast aspersions on any of the fine mpreg fics out there in fandom land, it's just not my thing, even though WitchWarren assures me there are some really good ones out there. This little fic ended up going in a direction I hadn't really planned, which is par for the course when I try to write these guys. Thanks to hubby also for the song suggestion. Hope you like it!_

_BTW, the toe popping thing? May sound gross, but boy does it feel good! LOL!_


	19. Lithium

**Lithium**, Nirvana

_I'm so happy 'cause today  
>I've found my friends<br>They're in my head  
>I'm so ugly, but that's okay, 'cause so are you<br>We broke our mirrors  
>Sunday morning is everyday for all I care<br>And I'm not scared  
>Light my candles, in a daze<br>'Cause I've found God  
>yeah, yeah yeah<em>

_I'm so lonely, but that's okay, I shaved my head_  
><em>And I'm not sad<em>  
><em>And just maybe I'm to blame for all I've heard<em>  
><em>But I'm not sure<em>  
><em>I'm so excited, I can't wait to meet you there<em>  
><em>But I don't care<em>  
><em>I'm so horny, but that's okay<em>  
><em>My will is good<em>  
><em>yeah yeah yeah<em>

_I like it - I'm not gonna crack_  
><em>I miss you - I'm not gonna crack<em>  
><em>I love you - I'm not gonna crack<em>  
><em>I killed you - I'm not gonna crack<em>

_I like it - I'm not gonna crack_  
><em>I miss you - I'm not gonna crack<em>  
><em>I love you - I'm not gonna crack<em>  
><em>I killed you - I'm not gonna crack<em>

_I'm so happy 'cause today_  
><em>I've found my friends<em>  
><em>They're in my head<em>  
><em>I'm so ugly, but that's okay, 'cause so are you<em>  
><em>We broke our mirrors<em>  
><em>Sunday morning is everyday for all I care<em>  
><em>And I'm not scared<em>  
><em>Light my candles in a daze<em>  
><em>'Cause I've found God<em>  
><em>yeah, yeah yeah<em>

_I like it - I'm not gonna crack  
>I miss you - I'm not gonna crack<br>I love you - I'm not gonna crack  
>I killed you - I'm not gonna crack<em>

_I like it - I'm not gonna crack_  
><em>I miss you - I'm not gonna crack<em>  
><em>I love you - I'm not gonna crack<em>  
><em>I killed you - I'm not gonna crack<em>

* * *

><p>Blair woke, momentarily disoriented as always. It took a few minutes for the room to resolve itself into familiar shapes; narrow bed, night stand, dresser. The walls were blank, painted a sickly green that was supposed to be soothing. He remembered another room, other walls adorned with tribal masks and photographs. He <em>remembered<em>. No matter what the doctors said.

He swung his feet over the side of the bed and sat up, stretching and scratching at the itchy pajamas they made him wear. The sun was still low in the sky, so it was early. Too early for med pass. He stood, stretching some more until his back popped, and then he carefully opened the door and poked his head out. The coast was clear, so he quickly darted down the hall to the bathroom.

Blair hated the communal bathroom. Sometimes a person just needed some privacy, but there was no getting it here. Unless you lucked out and woke early, like he had. He took his time brushing his teeth and washing up, carefully avoiding the mirror as he did so. Blair didn't like the way he looked anymore, all sharp edges and close-cropped hair. He remembered when it was long, remembered fingers lovingly carding through it.

"Wastin' water, kid." Old Charlie came through the door, scowling like always.

Blair ignored him and finished up quickly; he didn't want to hear any of the disgusting noises the old man made during his morning "constitutional." He went back to his room and sat on the bed, waiting for Carlos to come with his meds. As he did every morning, he reviewed the facts as he remembered them.

_Jim Ellison is my friend._

_I share an apartment with Jim Ellison._

_I am a graduate student at Rainier University._

_Jim Ellison is a Sentinel, and I am his Guide._

That was his truth, facts that no amount of medication had been able to wipe away. He wanted to add, _Jim Ellison will come for me_, but that was less certain. It had been weeks – he was almost sure of that, though it wasn't always easy keeping track of the passing time – and Jim hadn't so much as called. Blair's deepest fear, the one he never spoke of to anyone, was that Jim had died. Killed on the job, maybe. And he'd blocked it out, repressed it. Just like with Allison.

A cursory knock at the door snapped Blair out of his fearful thoughts. Carlos came in with a grin under his bushy black moustache and a paper cup with Blair's anti-anxiety meds sitting inside.

"Morning, Blair," the LPN said cheerfully.

"Is it Tuesday?" Blair asked, accepting his pills and the cup of water that came with it.

"It sure is. How's the head today?"

"Fine." He swallowed his medication and handed both cups back to Carlos. Some mornings he woke with a terrible headache, and on those days he'd be bed ridden and miserable.

"That's good to hear. You meeting with Dr. Kay today?"

Blair just nodded. Tuesdays and Thursdays were his therapy sessions. He hated them, hated the way they made him feel confused. _Jim Ellison is my friend._

"You have a good day today, Blair." Carlos tipped an imaginary hat and left, cart squeaking as he moved on down the hall.

Blair watched the numbers change on his digital clock, not moving until it was time for breakfast. He hated this too, taking meals in the cafeteria. Hated being surrounded by crazy people, sad people. These were not his people, he didn't belong here, and he wanted to go home.

He sat at an empty table in the corner and waited for one of the aides to bring his tray. Every resident received a meal that met their specific dietary needs. In this, as in all other things, he wasn't given a choice.

"Good morning, Blair." Susie set his tray on the table. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fine." He liked Susie; she was always friendly and she smelled nice. He'd learned, though, not to say too much. Someone was always watching and listening, trying to get at things he didn't want to share. He remembered talking a lot, remembered always having something to say.

"We're supposed to get a break from the rain tomorrow," Susie said. "It'll be nice to get back outside."

Blair nodded, turning his attention to the food on his tray. Scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast, and cubed honey dew melon. He wished for pancakes but never got them. Did Jim make him pancakes? He thought maybe, but that was one of the things he couldn't remember.

He ate quickly, wanting to be away from the clatter of silverware and Mrs. Pines shrieking at her oatmeal. Even a session with Dr. Kay was better than this. And it wasn't that the food was bad, it was just bland and not what he wanted.

When he was finished, Susie came for his tray and told him he could wait in the Day Room until it was time for his session. Blair happily fled the cafeteria, his steps a little slower as his meds kicked in. He tried to stave off the fuzziness in his head, the way the edges of everything started to soften and waver. He made it to the Day Room and stood next to the mesh-covered window, looking out on the rain-soaked lawn.

He remembered that he didn't like the rain, or the cold; there was a lot of both here, but he'd stayed because of school. _I am a grad student at Rainier University._ And then he'd stayed for Jim, who had needed his help. _Jim Ellison is a Sentinel and I am his Guide._ He remembered Jim, the way he laughed and sometimes yelled, but always that he was Blair's friend. Where was he?

"Blair? Dr. Kay will see you now." An orderly stood at his elbow, and he had to look at the nametag to know who he was. _Brett._ He must be new.

Even though Blair knew the way, he followed Brett down the hall to where the offices were located, fighting back nausea as everything shimmered around the edges. The orderly rapped on the door to Dr. Kay's office and opened it, ushering Blair inside.

"Thank you, Brett."

Dr. Kay sat behind his overly-large desk, the dark cherry wood gleaming under the overhead light. He was a thin, serious man with wavy gray hair and a thin moustache. He motioned Blair into his usual seat, a wide leather chair that he could curl up in. The doctor sat opposite him on the couch, the digital recorder turned on next to him.

"How are you doing today, Blair?"

"Fine."

"I'm gong to need more than that," Dr. Kay said disapprovingly. "Use your words."

"No headache," Blair replied. He hated being made to say what he didn't want to do to say, do what he didn't want to do. "Can I go home?"

Dr. Kay shook his head. "You know you aren't ready for that. Not until you can face the truth about what happened."

Blair didn't like the doctor's truth, it wasn't the same as his. _Jim Ellison is my friend_. He clutched that to his heart, where no-one could touch it. They'd taken a lot away from him here but he wasn't going to lose Jim.

"Blair. It was a terrible thing that happened to you. And it's understandable that you would create a connection with someone stronger than you."

Allison. Dr. Kay wanted to talk about Allison, but she didn't feel real to Blair, not the way Jim did. They'd told him the terrible thing that had happened, and it hurt to think of it, but he didn't feel like it had happened to _him_. He didn't _remember_.

"You need to face this, Blair. You're mind created a hero figure to help you cope with an unbearable trauma, but now is the time to work through that and let it all go."

They'd gone through all of this before. Blair knew that Dr. Kay thought Jim was the antithesis of Blair – tall, muscular, stoic. Blair had no father and Jim had no mother. Jim was tidy and controlled, while he was messy and spontaneous. And he saved Blair, saved him all the time, he was the best kind of hero. Most of all, Dr. Kay thought Blair had made it all up, constructed his friendship with Jim out of nothing.

Because he hadn't been strong enough to save Allison.

"Jim Ellison is a police detective, and he was assigned to your case. The only interaction you had with him was to be interviewed."

Blair remembered fishing trips and basketball games. He remembered kind words and hugs and a little room under Jim's. _Jim Ellison is my friend_.

"You need to engage with your therapy if you want to go home." Dr. Kay looked disappointed, as always. "Perhaps another session of electroshock would be beneficial."

"No!" Blair blurted out, curling into himself. No, he didn't want that again. The last time he felt like whole chunks of his life had been burned right out of his skull. There were things he'd forgotten, he knew it, and maybe Allison was one of those things that had been lost. Which was ironic, really.

"Then talk to me, Blair. Tell me about Allison."

Blair shook his head, because he didn't _remember_, but he could relay what they'd told him before. "We were walking back from a movie. Three men stopped us, and beat me real bad. They raped and murdered Allison in front of me."

He remembered being hit in the face, in the head. But they were disjointed memories, and it didn't feel like they fit together. He remembered hurting, but not why.

"That's not a memory, that's a recitation." Dr. Kay sighed. "You're not trying."

"I don't remember!" Blair shouted, and his headache roared into existence, stealing his breath with the blinding intensity of it. He didn't want to remember something so ugly, but it was the only way they'd let him go home. Home was where Jim was. _I share an apartment with Jim Ellison._ He felt this was true, _remembered_ it was true. Allison was a wispy non-memory, a phantom.

Blair was dimly aware that Dr. Kay had called for an orderly to take him back to his room and medicate him. The pain was staggering, and he let himself be half-dragged down the hall. He wanted to crawl in his bed and hide himself in the blankets until the pain went away.

They hadn't gone far when he heard a disturbance, yelling and noise that spiked the agony swirling through his head. There was the sound of something shattering. But out of the chaos came one shouted word, something that Blair had forgotten, something that froze him in place when he should have been running away from all of it.

"Chief!"

His eyes, which had been closed against the too-bright light in the hall, popped open. Someone was tugging him away from the orderly, hands running over his head, his arms, his chest.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dr. Kay was there, angry and spluttering.

"Cascade PD," barked another voice, a familiar voice. But Blair could only blink blearily at the man holding him upright.

"Sandburg, are you okay?"

Blair tried to smile up at him. "Fine," he said before everything faded to black.

*o*o*o*

Blair woke up, momentarily disoriented as always. Today, though, the objects in his room had no familiarity. There was a bed with side rails, a tray, beeping machines, a window. There was never a window. He had a moment of panic – was he here for more electroshock? – and then a hand was on his arm, gentle but firm.

"It's okay, Chief."

Jim sat beside the bed and Blair could only stare at him, searching for signs that this was a dream or drug-induced hallucination. He turned back to the comfort of his mantra, only now it moved from his mind to his mouth, the first time he'd said the words aloud.

"Jim Ellison is my friend."

"That's right, Blair. You're my friend, my best friend." There was a look on Jim's face that made Blair want to cry. Too many shadows in his eyes.

"I share an apartment with Jim Ellison."

"You do. And as soon as you're well enough I'll take you home."

"How…"

"We've been looking for you, Chief. We didn't know who took you or why." Jim kept one hand on Blair's arm while the other clenched into a fist. "We were following a lead on an unrelated case and I…I could hear you…your heartbeat. I thought I was imagining it at first."

_Jim Ellison is a Sentinel and I am his Guide._ All his truths were real, and he felt overwhelming relief; he'd been right not to doubt it. He wasn't crazy.

"Allison?"

Jim shook his head. "I read through Dr. Kay's files, Sandburg. There _is_ no Allison. They were trying to give you false memories."

Blair couldn't help himself, he started to cry. He was so incredibly grateful not to have that memory lurking in his head waiting to come out. There was no Allison and there was no trauma. All lies.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that. All of that. We don't know why they did this to you, but I swear we'll find out." Jim had hold of his hand now and leaned over the bed, sorrow written across his face.

Blair remembered that Jim wore guilt like an extra suit of clothes. He squeezed the other man's hand, offering comfort instead of words, and swallowed his tears.

"They had you listed under a false name, or I'd have found you sooner. I never stopped looking, you have to believe that."

"I knew you'd come," Blair said. "I remembered that you always come."

"Can't do any of this without you, partner." Jim's voice sounded choked and Blair remembered he had a hard time expressing himself.

"It's okay, big guy. We'll be okay." Blair hesitated a moment. "Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief?"

"Did you ever make me pancakes?"

"Blueberry. Every Sunday."

Blair grinned; one memory recovered. He closed his eyes, tired, and felt Jim's hand on his head, ruffling the short curls there.

"Get some rest, Blair. I'll be here when you wake up."

"I won't forget," Blair promised, and slipped into sleep with a smile on his face.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> Why is it, I wonder, that I like to plague these boys with neurological problems? LOL! That probably says something about me I really don't want to know. Anyhoo, I'd gotten the idea for this a while ago and was going to make Blair honestly crazy – the Allison story would have been true. But I didn't like that, so of course I had to switch it up and let Jim come in for the rescue. Special thanks to smiles2go, who had lots of input way back when this idea first took root and probably has now forgotten this bunny even existed. ::grins::_


	20. Once Upon A December

**Once Upon A December,** Deana Carter

_Dancing bears, painted wings  
>Things I almost remember<br>And a song someone sings  
>Once upon a December<em>

_Someone holds me safe and warm_  
><em>Horses prance through a silver storm<em>  
><em>Figures dancing gracefully<em>  
><em>Across my memory<em>

_Far away, long ago_  
><em>Glowing dim as an ember<em>  
><em>Things my heart used to know<em>  
><em>Once upon a December<em>

_Someone holds me safe and warm_  
><em>Horses prance through a silver storm<em>  
><em>Figures dancing gracefully<em>  
><em>Across my memory<em>

_Far away, long ago_  
><em>Glowing dim as an ember<em>  
><em>Things my heart used to know<em>  
><em>Things it yearns to remember<em>

_And a song someone sings_  
><em>Once upon a December<em>

* * *

><p>Everything is darkness and pain, until I open my eyes and the too-bright light assaults me. My head feels like it's being hammered on and I put my hands over my face, moaning. My voice sounds strange to my ears. And then I hear another voice, feel a warm touch on my arm.<p>

"It's okay, Chief. You're going to be okay."

The lights dim, which offers a modicum of relief. There are new voices now, and other people touching me. I keep my eyes tightly closed against the pain, the confusion. It's hard to catch my breath.

"Mr. Sandburg, I'm going to give you some pain medication. But first I need to examine you. Can you lower your hands?"

The words swirl around me, meaning nothing. My hands are pulled from my face, though I fight to keep them there. That masculine voice continues to speak, soothing words that flow over me and help me breathe a little easier. A light is shown in my eyes, and I try to pull away from it but there's nowhere for me to go.

"Calm down, Chief. Take it easy. No-one's going to hurt you."

"Mr. Sandburg, how is your vision?"

"What…what's happening?" I ask fearfully. "Where…"

"You're in the hospital, Blair," the soothing voice says. "Let the nurses help you."

Names swirl around in my aching head. _Chief. Mr. Sandburg. Blair_. They should mean something, I know they should, but it slips away from me. I'm in a hospital, and that at least comes with understanding. I know what a hospital is. I just don't know why I'm here.

The nurse takes my face in her hands and turns it so I'm looking at her through squinted eyes.

"Do you know your name?"

_Nobody. Nothing_. I try to remember the other names, knowing one must be me, but the pain makes thinking too hard. I don't even realize I'm crying until the man beside me wipes the tears away with his thumbs.

"Shh. It's okay. It'll be okay."

Finally, finally, the nurse gives me something. Something to numb the pain and the fear, and for a while I don't have to worry about not knowing my own name. The man holds my hand as I slowly drift away into a more comfortable, quiet place where I don't have to do any thinking at all.

*o*o*o*

My name is Blair Sandburg. There's a wallet with a driver's license inside, and some other things I'm not brave enough to look at yet. I study the picture and see a stranger with curly hair and glasses and a big smile. I put my fingers to my lips, but my attempt at a smile feels lopsided and wrong so I stop trying. The man in the picture must have had a lot to feel happy about, and I wish I could remember what that was.

They tell me I've been here for two days, recovering from an assault. I don't remember it. I don't remember anything. I'm a blank. I know how to talk, how to walk. I know things like current events, what year it is. But everything related to Blair Sandburg is a void.

I've had lots of tests. Blood tests, CT scans, MRIs. My brain is fine, they say. The doctor uses words like _head trauma_ and _psychogenic amnesia_, but those are just words. The more I try to find myself, the more insubstantial I feel, like a puff of smoke that's slowly drifting away. It scares me.

There have been visitors to my room today, all of them very nice but all strangers. Blair Sandburg…I have a lot of friends. Particularly the big cop who sits in the corner of my room like a gargoyle, refusing to leave even when I ask him to. It's uncomfortable, the way he stares at me. I can't stare back at him, or even look at him very long, because he makes my chest feel tight and I don't know why.

"You're looking better, Sandburg." The black policeman is back. It takes me a minute to remember the name he told me this morning. _Simon_. His name is Simon.

"Thank you," I say politely. I know the bruises on my face are still stark and ugly, and my left eye is swollen. I have stitches in my head, holding together several deep gashes; I saw myself in the bathroom mirror when the nurse took me there this morning. There are bruises on my chest too, and they're sore to the touch. They've taken most of the tubes out of me, which is the only improvement as far as I can tell.

"He's having bad headaches," the gargoyle says from the corner. He's right, but I don't like him speaking for me. The doctor is trying out some medication and it's working right now. The headache is still there but faintly so; this morning it was blinding. The big cop was right next to my bed when that happened, holding my hand. I didn't mind having him around so much then.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Jim?" Simon asks. He takes the big cop out in the hall and they close the door. It's okay, because I don't want to listen. I can relax now, without that unwavering blue gaze pinning me like a butterfly to a board. Like if he just concentrates hard enough, he can figure out what's wrong with me and fix it.

I close my eyes, drifting for a while. I get really tired, even though they tell me I was asleep for almost two days. Sometimes, when I'm in between asleep and awake like this, it's like the Blair Sandburg I was days ago is there in the mist and I can almost see him. Almost remember what it was like to be him. But I can never get close enough.

When I wake up the gargoyle is back on his perch and Simon is gone. My hair is in my face and I use one hand to push it back. The big cop's gaze sharpens until I can almost feel it pricking at my skin.

"You okay, Blair?"

"Fine," I say automatically even though I'm not. "I need to do something with this hair."

"It needs to be washed," the big cop says.

"It needs to be cut." This is the wrong thing to say, I can tell that immediately. The gargoyle's face hardens as if he really has turned to stone.

"Do you want me to tie it back for you?" he asks after a while. Not quite stone now, but still stiff.

"Yeah. Okay."

He goes into the little bathroom and comes out with a brush and hair elastic; I wonder when he brought them. I sit up a little more, moving slowly so I don't get too dizzy, and turn so he can reach. It's surprisingly nice to have someone brushing my hair. Soothing, in a way. For a big man, he's very gentle. He carefully works out the snarls in my hair before he pulls it back and ties it low at the nape of my neck so that it doesn't bother me when I lay back against the pillow.

"Thanks," I say. His hand lingers on the top of my head for a moment too long before he resumes his seat.

There is more awkward silence between us, and I try to fill it by grabbing the wallet from the tray table. There's not much in here. The driver's license. An ID card for Rainier University, with another smiling Blair Sandburg photo. A discount card for Whole Foods. Hundred dollar bill folded up and tucked away. Two different library cards. And some photos, also tucked away. One of a red-headed woman and a much younger Blair Sandburg, laughing in the middle of a flower garden.

The other two pictures give me pause and I study them closely. In one, the gargoyle has been caught mid-laugh. Hard to reconcile that joyful expression with the stern countenance right now staring at me from across the room. He looks handsome in the picture, carefree. The other photo is of the gargoyle and Blair Sandburg, dressed in tuxedos with their arms casually slung around each other's waist, grinning at the camera.

"Last year's Policeman's Ball," the big cop says. I wonder how he knows what I'm looking at, but maybe he has x-ray vision; maybe that's why he stares so hard at me.

"You look happy."

"_We_ were."

"This must be hard for you," I say, only just realizing it myself. "I'm sorry I can't remember."

The stone face cracks just a bit, softens around the edges. "Not your fault, Chief. It'll come back to you."

He sounds so certain.

"The woman in the other picture is your mother, Naomi."

I study that photo again. There's not much of a resemblance there. Do I favor my father's side? I suddenly worry that she's going to come, that I'll have to face a mother I don't know. Another person to disappoint.

"Is she…is she coming here?"

"We haven't been able to reach her. Your mother…travels a lot. We think she's in Winnipeg, but no-one seems to know for sure."

"Oh." All I feel is relief. I think the big cop can hear it, because he looks at me funny. "I'm a student at Rainier University?"

"Grad student. You teach some classes, too. Anthropology."

"Is that like…digging up things in the desert or something?"

This feels like something I should know. Have I forgotten an entire course of study? The headache moves to the front of my head, pounding painfully now. I don't look at the big cop because I know that somehow he will have been disappointed again. He's waiting for a sign that Blair Sandburg is still in here, but I just can't find him. I wish I could.

The gargoyle has retreated into silence, so thick I can almost grab hold of it. It makes the air too heavy to breathe. How can he stand to stay here with me? Why doesn't he have someplace else to be?

"You should go home," I say, trying to keep the pain in my head from bleeding into my voice. I hazard a look, surprised to see that he's not watching me; instead he stares at the wall with such sadness in his eyes that my chest tightens again.

"Maybe I should," he sighs.

That surprises me. It's the first time he's agreed to that suggestion, and instead of feeling relieved I'm suddenly panicking. It's creepy, the way he studies me so quietly, but he's been the only constant for me since I woke up. My chest constricts and I can't control my breathing, it's too fast and makes my head pound, makes the nausea come back.

"Easy, Chief. Come on now, slow breaths." The big cop is at my side, one hand on my chest as it heaves. I shake my head, and that's a mistake. He must see something on my face, and has a pink plastic basin under my chin just in time. There's not very much to come up but my stomach tries anyway until the muscles there ache.

"Nice and easy, now. That's right."

By the end of it I'm wrung out and exhausted, laying limply back against the pillow. The gargoyle – _Jim_, I remind myself, he has a name – gets a washcloth and gently wipes my face, and then supplies me with a cup of lukewarm water to rinse out my mouth.

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice little more than a raspy whisper. He hears me, though, and puts his hand on my head.

"Don't apologize. It's okay." His eyes, such a clear blue, are kind. "Get some rest. I'm gonna go home and do the same. But I'll be back. I promise."

I nod, just a little, and he gives me a half smile. He stays with me until I fall asleep.

*o*o*o*

I wake up disoriented, fear gripping me instantly. Have I forgotten again? But no, it's just a momentary blip. I don't know how long I've been asleep but Jim is back in his chair, clothes changed and looking a bit fresher like maybe he got some sleep too. He kept his promise, and without knowing anything at all about him that gives me a positive place to start.

"You okay?" he asks.

"I guess that depends on how you define okay."

For some reason this makes him smile, and I'm amazed at the transformation his face undergoes. It's not quite the joyful look from the photo, but I like it.

"Headache?"

"It's not so bad." Which is a lie, and I don't know why I'm bothering because Jim gives me a look like he can see right inside my skull.

"The nurse will be here in about five minutes with your medication. Take it." The command is tempered by a soft tone, so I try not to take offense.

"Can I ask you a question?" Looking at him directly for too long makes me nervous, so I focus on a point over his shoulder.

"You can ask me anything."

"What kind of man am I? Was I?" Once I ask it, I feel like it was a mistake because Jim doesn't answer right away. He doesn't look mad, or disappointed, though; maybe he's just thinking what to say. I look down at my hands, study them intently while I wait. I wonder what these hands were used for. Did they help people? Hurt them? Do they know how to play an instrument or hold a paintbrush? Did they fight back against the man that beat my memories out of me?

"You're the best man I know," Jim says finally. I look up at him and he holds my gaze. "You always put other people first, especially me. I trust you to have my back, and I'm…I'm sorry I didn't have yours."

For a moment I'm terrified that he's going to cry, but he just clenches his jaw and looks away. Now that I think to look for it I can see the guilt on his face, and I'm certain it doesn't belong there. I may only have known him for a couple of days, but he strikes me as the kind of person you can count on.

"Why?" I ask. "Why didn't you?"

He looks stricken at my question, but I'm honestly curious. I want to know how his mind works, why he's carrying guilt for my current condition. When he finally answers, he keeps his gaze firmly on his clenched fists.

"You…I was working late. On the Hudson case. We were supposed to meet for dinner at the new Italian place, but I was late. Following a lead that didn't end up panning out anyway." The bitterness and self-recrimination in his voice is painful to listen to. And completely unnecessary. "If I'd been there, if you hadn't been alone…"

"Did I know you were following a lead?"

"Of course. I called you."

"And would the old me have blamed you for something that was absolutely not your fault? It sounds like one of those wrong place, wrong time things to me."

Finally he looks up at me, confusion on his face. Was he expecting me to yell at him? Is that the kind of person I was?

"No," he says after a while, his voice so quiet I have to strain to hear it. "You wouldn't have."

"Well, good." I feel relieved. It's good to know there's one thing I have in common with Blair Sandburg. I can see that the guilt is still there on Jim's face, but maybe it's lessened just a little.

The doctor comes in then, to look me over and ask about the headache. Under Jim's watchful eye I'm honest about the level of pain, which is fairly low at the moment. This seems to please everyone.

"You're responding very well to the pain medication," the doctor says, and makes a note on my chart. "We'll keep you one more night for observation and if everything continues to go well you'll be home in time for Christmas.

I stare at his back as he walks out of the room. I know the month is December; that was one of the questions they asked me to test my memory. It never occurred to me that it was the holiday season, though now that I think about it there were signs – nurses in festive scrubs, for one. I wonder if I'm usually this unaware of my surroundings. I look back over at Jim.

"It's Christmas?"

"Almost. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve."

I don't fail to notice how devoid of emotion that response is and I wonder why. "Am I keeping you from a family thing?"

Jim shakes his head, his face as neutral as his voice. Maybe the big cop doesn't have any family; I've already noticed he doesn't wear a wedding ring. I think about the photographs in the wallet. Maybe the two of us were supposed to do something together.

"I'm sorry," I say, and find that the feeling is genuine. "For ruining your plans."

His impenetrable gaze softens and his lips quirk up in a smile. "You didn't ruin anything, Sandburg."

"Were we…I mean, did we…"

"We were spending the holiday together. Looks like we'll still get to." Jim sounds happy about that, which eases some of my discomfort. As much as I've been wanting him to leave me alone, I'm becoming accustomed to seeing him sitting there in the usual spot.

"Listen, Chief," he says, and now he looks uncomfortable. "There's something you should know before they release you."

As soon as he says that I realize I have no idea where I would even go. I could check the license, but I decide to just wait and let Jim have his say first. I'm sure he knows where I live and would be happy to tell me, or even take me there.

"Thing is, we live together." He rubs the back of his neck with his hand and looks embarrassed by the admission.

I'm not sure how to respond. Are we roommates? Or do we have a more intimate relationship? The more I think about it, the more likely the second scenario seems. Why else would Jim spend all his time here with me? Take such care with me? I'm not sure how to feel about that.

"It's okay," Jim says hastily. "I've got your old room all set up for you."

"My _old_ room?"

"It's complicated," he apologizes.

I can certainly believe that. Apparently there's a lot more to me than meets the eye. Blair Sandburg – anthropologist, friend to cops, gay man. I bet the story of how we hooked up is a doozy. I study Jim's face, trying to see him through the eyes of a lover. He's a handsome man, no denying that; strong chin, piercing eyes, physically fit. But nothing sparks feelings in me, besides that familiar tightening in my chest that I've decided is just a response to my own lack of self-awareness.

"Are we…serious?" I can't help but ask. I don't know if I'm a casual kind of person or not, though the fact that we live together feels like more than just a fling to me.

"Yes." There's no hesitation, no uncertainty, in his response. I have no choice but to believe it. I think again of those photographs, and don't need to ask if we were happy. My throat clogs with guilt, as if I chose not to remember him. I bite my lip to keep from apologizing again, to keep from adding to his pain.

"It's okay, Blair," Jim says softly. "It'll be okay."

I wonder if the old me would have believed that.

*o*o*o*

Early afternoon on Christmas Eve finds me sitting on the edge of my bed waiting for the doctor to bring my release papers. I've already taken an assisted walk down the hall, which is strewn with festive holiday decorations, and had an aide help me wash my hair since I'm still relegated to sponge baths until my stitches come out. Jim's eyes had brightened when he'd seen me; I must've looked awful before.

He'd brought me some clothes and toiletries as well, and so I've exchanged hospital scrubs for well-worn jeans, a dark green Henley, and a green plaid flannel shirt. Everything fits too well for it not to be mine and I wonder if this is how I normally dress when I'm not teaching.

"You ready to go, Chief?" Jim strides into the room ahead of the doctor, who gives me the papers to sign.

"If your headaches worsen, or you have any trouble with your speech or vision, I want you to come in immediately," the doctor says. "Is there someone who can stay with you for the next forty-eight hours?"

I look over at Jim, who nods. "Yes, I do."

"Excellent. I'll see you in a week for a checkup. Happy holidays, Mr. Sandburg."

"Happy holidays," I reply.

The doctor leaves me with a handful of papers on symptoms to watch for and a prescription for pain medication. I stare at it all, a bit overwhelmed, until Jim takes it.

"Nervous?" he asks.

I nod. This hospital room is the sum total of my life as I know it. Everything outside is an unknown quantity. I'm not sure I'm ready to face the rest of my life yet.

"Relax." Jim stands close but doesn't touch me; he hasn't since his revelation that we're more than friends. "It'll be just you and me, and we're only going home. No parties."

There's relief in that. I'm sure if I remembered my friends I'd be pleased to have them waiting to welcome me home. The way things stand now, though, it would only make me anxious. It occurs to me that I need to start getting a handle on things; I'm pretty sure Jim won't let me just stay locked in my room indefinitely.

"Okay." But before I can get out the door a nurse is there with a wheelchair. She wheels me down to the front door, Jim walking along beside me, and wishes me luck. Jim hands me a pair of sunglasses, since I'm still light sensitive, and I can feel his gaze on me as we walk to the parking lot, like he's worried I'll suddenly topple over. I'm steady enough on my feet, though.

"I thought there'd be snow."

"It's been unseasonably warm."

It's cool enough for flannel, but the asphalt is dry and clear. The sky overhead is leaden, and I wonder if there's rain or snow in the forecast. Doesn't seem right to have Christmas without any snow.

"Here we are." Jim has led us to an old pickup truck, painted teal and white. It must be at least thirty years old, and not at all what I imagined a cop would be driving.

"Is this mine?" I ask. That seems to make more sense, but Jim chuckles and shakes his head.

"You have a Volvo."

Oh. Well, that's certainly an acceptable vehicle for a teacher. I climb up into the passenger seat and fasten the lap belt. There's a CB radio attached to the dashboard, and the whole cab of the truck is unusually tidy; not so much as an errant gum wrapper stuffed in the too-clean ashtray.

The drive through Cascade is made in silence. I look out the window, waiting to see if anything looks familiar. There are festive Christmas banners hanging from light posts, and Santa's out on the sidewalks ringing bells for the Salvation Army. I see plenty of wreaths, Christmas lights, and festive window displays, but none of it feels like home.

"Don't push yourself, Chief," Jim says, turning down a side street. "You can't force your memory back. Believe me, I know."

"You do?" I ask, surprised. It occurs to me that I haven't asked Jim any questions about himself, too consumed with my own lack of personal history to give a thought about the man who has essentially become my sole caregiver.

"I was in the Army. Rangers. I was sent on a mission to Peru and our helicopter crashed. I was the only survivor." He tells the story matter-of-factly, much the way I assume he'd lay out the facts in a case. My own imagination fills in the blanks and my heart hurts for him.

"I was in country for eighteen months, but I remember almost none of it."

"_Eighteen_ _months_?" I'm incredulous. "How did you survive?"

"The local tribe took me in, nursed me back to health."

"And you don't remember it?"

Jim gives me a sideways glance. "Some of it is coming back. Thanks to you. You've been working with me, helping me remember."

"Oh." I feel a pang of loss. Clearly the relationship Jim and I had was much deeper than I first considered. Recovering repressed memories was something that required an immense amount of trust, more than would be afforded by casual bed partners.

"It's taken me a while to get to this point," Jim says. "I wasn't ready before. And however long it takes for you, I'll be here. Okay?"

"That means a lot. Thanks." I find myself smiling at him, honestly moved by his promise. We haven't known each other very long, at least according to my personal time line, but I believe him without question. All things considered, I'm lucky to be able to call him a friend.

"Here we are." Jim pulls into a parking lot, deftly maneuvering the truck into a spot close to the entrance. The building it's attached to doesn't look like much; a standard commercial space that at some point had been renovated into apartments. He turns the truck off and gets out, waiting for me to do the same. I stare at the brick and cinderblock structure, wondering what floor we live on and what kind of place we share. How will it feel to be surrounded by pieces of a life I don't remember?

Finally, just as Jim looks like he's going to come over and open my door I get myself in motion. No sense putting off the inevitable. Besides, if I have to reinvent myself it's better to be courageous than cowering. The Blair Sandburg who lives in that wallet doesn't look like the timid type, and I won't be either.

"You okay?" Jim asks. I can tell by the rigid way he's holding himself that he wants to touch me – a pat on the back, maybe, or an arm across my shoulders. Clearly before my memory loss he was more comfortable expressing his affections physically. Being fearless is all well and good, but I wouldn't mind a bit of comforting. I bump up against him, earning a quick, surprised grin.

"I'm good." This isn't a complete lie, which makes me smile in return.

We walk inside and bypass an elevator that looks well past its prime. I follow Jim up the stairs and by the time we reach the third floor I'm out of breath, my chest tight for completely physical reasons this time.

"Nice and easy, Chief," Jim says. He wraps his hand tentatively around my arm, as if he's preparing to hold me upright if need be.

"Too much…bed rest," I joke wheezily.

"You had pneumonia not long ago," Jim says. "After what you've just been through your body is a little stressed."

Oh. One more thing to add to the list titled Who Is Blair Sandburg. If the pneumonia had been mentioned during my hospital stay I don't remember it. "How did I get pneumonia?"

"It's…complicated," is Jim's evasive reply. He lets go of my arm and moves a little way down the hall, unlocking the door to apartment 307. I decide not to press the issue and ask what else about my life is too complicated for an explanation. When I'm feeling better, though, we're definitely having that conversation.

"Welcome home, Blair." Jim opens the door and stands aside to let me enter first.

My initial impression is of an industrial space that's somehow been made to feel very homey and welcoming. A large bank of windows floods the open space with natural light, or would if there were any sunshine. The walls are painted in warm, earthy tones that help diminish the feeling of vastness from the open floor plan; they're adorned with tribal masks, what looks like a large panel of Native American weaving, and photographs. There's a free-standing fireplace and a Christmas tree, and a cork board covered with greeting cards. The holiday decorations are minimal but still add a festive air to the space.

"What do you think?" Jim asks a little anxiously. Even if I hated it, which I most definitely don't, I'd have to be careful with my answer because I'm sure any perceived rejection of this shared living space would be taken very, very badly. He's also probably hoping that my memory will make a spontaneous resurgence now that I'm here, and I hate to disappoint him; I don't want the stone-faced gargoyle to come back.

"It's big," I say. "But nice. I like it."

"Well, it's home."

There's an awkward silence between us, then Jim points out a little room off to the right. "If you're tired you can take a nap."

I nod, grateful for something to do. And honestly, all of this physical activity has been a bit much for me. "A nap actually sounds good, thanks."

"While you're doing that I'll take your prescription to be filled. Will you be okay here on your own?"

"I promise not to burn it down while you're gone."

Jim shakes his head but I can tell he's amused. He goes back out, locking the door behind him, and I remove the sunglasses and go to the little room that was once mine and now isn't. Which probably isn't all that complicated, really; clearly we started off just as roommates and our relationship changed over time. I wonder how long it took for that to happen.

"Wow," I mutter to myself. It's a tiny space, full of furniture - a futon, a desk, shelves full of books, and a small dresser. There are picture frames, bits of stone, and papers on every available flat space and a laptop on the desk. The room is still clearly used, perhaps now as an office, and smells freshly scrubbed. One of us must be a real neat freak.

I stretch out on the futon without bothering to even take my shoes off, and feel some of the tension drain away. The crisp sheets smell freshly washed. How must Jim have felt, making the bed? He clearly isn't expecting me to return his affections, for which I'm both sad and grateful; I wish I could remember for him, for all that he's done for me in the last few days.

I've survived my homecoming, and while it hasn't shaken loose any memories it also doesn't terrify me. I consider it a win. While I try and tally up all the new things I've learned about myself today, my eyes close and I drift off to sleep.

*o*o*o*

I jerk awake, startled, my heart racing. I don't know what woke me, but suddenly Jim is there hovering in the doorway. It's gotten very gloomy since I fell asleep but I can make him out well enough to tell he's concerned.

"You okay, Chief?"

"Yeah, sorry. What time is it?" I sit up and scrub a hand across my face. My head is starting to pound.

"It's almost five-thirty," he says.

"Jeez. I was more tired than I thought."

Jim steps out of sight for a second, then returns with a glass of water and a pain pill. "You should've had this an hour ago but I didn't want to wake you."

"Thanks." I swallow the pill and hope it doesn't take too long to kick in. Jim takes the empty glass from me.

"I'm heating up some leftover lasagna. You want some?"

I take a moment to do a self-inventory. I'm feeling a little better after my lengthy nap, headache aside, and my stomach is rumbling just a little. "I could eat. Anything but green jello."

"I hear that." Jim grins and walks away, presumably to the kitchen. I get out of bed, stretching, and head for the bathroom to wash up and take care of some pressing business. Now that my heart isn't pounding in my ears anymore, I can hear Christmas music playing softly. _I'll Be Home For Christmas_, how apropos.

The only light in the apartment comes from the kitchen and the now lit Christmas tree; the latter is draped in blue lights and I go over for a closer look. I'm surprised to find that it's an artificial tree; it's a really good one, if unusually decorated. There are multicolored glass balls and Santas hung beside menorahs and dreidels. The tree topper is a Star of David.

Suddenly there's so much pressure in my chest I wonder how I can possibly still be breathing. The pain in my head spikes, bringing tears to my eyes, but I can't look away from the tree.

"It's a Chrismukkah tree," Jim says from the kitchen. "You've just started reacquainting yourself with Judaism."

_"I just feel like I need to redefine myself, you know? Get a better idea of the kind of man I want to be."_

_ "Knock yourself out, Chief. Just no snake-wrangling, okay?"_

_ "I'll try to keep it close to normal, big guy."_

A Chrismukkah tree. Jim insisted on it, I remember now. To show his support. Because he loves me.

"Blair? Everything okay?"

I open my mouth, either to reply or beg for help, when another memory hits me hard enough to drop me to my knees.

"Blair!"

_ I'm almost to the car, disappointed that Jim couldn't make it even though I understand why, when I'm pushed from behind. I stumble, catching myself on the hood of the Volvo._

_ "Gimme your wallet. Come on! Come on!"_

_ I turn and there's a dirty, ragged-looking man there, shifting jerkily from foot to foot. He's holding no weapon that I can see, but his eyes are bloodshot and wild; he's clearly high on something._

_ "You don't want to do this, man," I say, holding up my hands. "Let me get you some help."_

_ "Your wallet! Give me your damn wallet!"_

_ "There's no money in it," I say, trying to talk him down. "But I can help you. I can take you to…"_

_ Before I can finish, he shoves me hard and my feet go out from under me. He's on me in seconds, banging my head against the pavement hard enough to make me see stars. I try to buck him off but he keeps punching me – chest, face, head – until everything starts getting hazy beneath the layers of pain. And all the while he's screaming at me, spittle flying._

_ "You're nothing! Nobody! You fuck! Nothing!"_

"Blair!"

The pain in my head is like a drill trying to punch through my skull. There are arms around me, holding me down, and I fight against them, dimly aware that I'm screaming incoherently.

"Stop! Blair, it's me! It's Jim!"

"Nobody!" I yell back. "I'm nobody!"

The fight goes out of me all at once, leaving me limp and panting, Jim's arms around my chest pinning my arms to my sides. We're sprawled on the floor and I'm practically sitting in his lap. It's all there, threatening to tear my skull apart – my memories, my life, everything I ever was. I can sense it, the enormity of it, all still hidden behind a rapidly thinning wall.

"I'm nothing," I whisper.

"You're _not_ nothing," Jim snaps. He loosens his grip and turns me to face him. There is fear in his eyes, on his face, but there's anger too. "You're my best friend. My Guide. You're Blair Sandburg, the best man I know. And I _love_ you."

There's no time to react before his lips are mashed against mine, his hands tight on my shoulders. The pain in my head crescendos into a blinding white light, and then the wall comes crashing down. The headache recedes from the onslaught of memories. There're so many faces and names and places zipping through my aching head in seconds. I remember loss and fear and gratitude and joy, but the love is stronger than any of them. A thousand memories of Jim flash through my mind. His fear for me, his pride in me, his love of me. My Sentinel. My lover. My friend.

I sag against him, the kiss breaking off with sob. How could I have forgotten how much this man means to me?

"Blair? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

My heart breaks for him. He shouldn't apologize for loving me. He should never apologize for that. He needs to know it's okay, so I wrap my arms around his waist.

"I love you, big guy."

He pulls away, looks desperately into my eyes. "Blair?"

"I remember you," I whisper, and lean up to capture his lips for another kiss but he pulls away again.

"You scared me," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "You were _gone_."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"You're always leaving me."

"And you're always pulling me back," I say fondly, running a hand along his jawline. "Don't ever stop doing that."

"Never," he promises, burying his head in the crook of my neck. We sit on the floor by the tree, just holding each other, until the smell of charred lasagna becomes too strong to ignore.

"Toss that," I say, pressing kisses to Jim's forehead. "I'll call for pizza."

"I missed you," Jim says with a watery grin. I kiss him again, trying to make up for lost time.

"I love you."

"Thank God for that."

More kissing and then he's scraping the ruined lasagna into a garbage bag and carrying the whole mess to the garbage chute at the end of the hall. I'm a lucky man, and I vow to never forget that again. I'm thankful for my second chance. Well, technically my third, I guess. I hope I don't run out of them. Or maybe this is my Hanukkah miracle.

"_Todah_," I say, closing my eyes. Life, our life, _is_ complicated. But nothing else would ever be so worthwhile.

I'm still sitting there when Jim returns. He pulls me to my feet and we stand there together in front of the tree that so aptly represents the joining of our two very different lives. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight, his temple resting gently against mine.

"You still with me?" he asks softly.

"I always was. My head didn't remember, but my heart sure did." I burrow against him with a weary sigh. "I'd really like to sleep upstairs tonight, if it's all the same with you."

"I don't know. I mean, I washed the futon sheets and everything."

"Oh, well, since you went to all that trouble…" I tease. I can feel myself starting to sag just a bit in Jim's arms. Sleeping sounds wonderful right about now. "Maybe I can take a rain check on that pizza?"

I can feel him nod. "Rest up, Sandburg. Tomorrow I'll fix you a proper Christmas dinner."

We both pass on dinner, instead curling up together on the big bed upstairs. Our bed. My head is full of memories of Jim, of all we've gone through together, and it's the best Christmas present I could ever ask for.

"Merry Christmas, Jim."

"Happy Hanukkah," he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong> Yes, I'm mucking around in Blair's head again. What can I say? I clearly have a problem. LOL! This fic has been sitting half-finished for quite a while and I thought now was a good time to complete it – a new Song in time for Christmas! Happy holidays!_

_Todah – Thank you in Hebrew_


	21. Soulmates

**Soulmates,** Marc Velasco

_Thanks for being there when I needed you  
>When I felt so tired and blue<br>Thanks for helping me understand  
>Life sometimes gets out of hand<em>

_You always find the way_  
><em>To stay so close though you may be far away<em>  
><em>To bring a smile<em>  
><em>As we live through day by day<em>

_One look in your eyes_  
><em>And I'm feeling alright<em>  
><em>With you in my mind<em>  
><em>I can live through the night<em>  
><em>You'll always stay so secure in my heart<em>  
><em>Soulmates, that's what we are<em>

_Thanks for all the times that you shared with me_  
><em>Precious moments they will be<em>  
><em>Thanks for lending me your ear<em>  
><em>When things get too much to bear<em>

_You always find the way_  
><em>To stay so close though you may be far away<em>  
><em>To bring a smile<em>  
><em>As we live through day by day<em>

_One look in your eyes_  
><em>And I'm feeling alright<em>  
><em>With you in my mind<em>  
><em>I can live through the night<em>  
><em>You'll always stay so secure in my heart<em>  
><em>Soulmates, that's what we are<em>

_One look in your eyes_  
><em>And I'm feeling alright<em>  
><em>With you in my mind<em>  
><em>I can live through the night<em>  
><em>You'll always stay so secure in my heart<em>  
><em>Soulmates, that's what we are<em>

_Soulmates, that's what we are_

* * *

><p>Jimmy heard the report on the news when he came in the house for lunch. He'd spent the morning out back in the old tree, reading <em>On the Road<em> for probably the third time. He loved these long summer days, with nothing much to do when he wasn't working his part-time job at the grocery store. Later on he thought he might go to the park and see if there'd be a pick-up game he could join. Some of his friends were on vacation, but there were usually a few guys around. His annoying brother was actually away at camp for the next two weeks, which had been an unexpected bright spot in Jimmy's summer plans.

"Go wash up," Sally commanded, putting the finishing touches on the egg salad. Jimmy tossed his book on the table and went to do so, opening up vision to make sure he didn't have any splinters as he washed his hands.

Once settled in at the table, he ate with one hand and held his book in the other so he could read. Jimmy thought maybe he'd take a cross-country trip when he graduated high school in another five years. Not that his dad would ever agree to that, but he'd be eighteen then and could make his own decisions. Or so he fervently hoped.

_Love Me Tender_ was playing softly from the radio, and Jimmy glanced over at Sally with a smirk; she was swaying to the music while she washed dishes. The Ellison's housekeeper and surrogate mother was a big Elvis fan. Jimmy himself preferred the Stones and the Beach Boys, but if you wanted girls to dance with you Elvis was the way to go. He didn't understand the swooning, but the guy had helped him get to second base with Carrie Bellmer and he'd always be grateful for that.

When the song ended the news started up and Jimmy almost never paid any attention to that. They always led with the latest stats from 'Nam, which were always disheartening, and never-ending promises from President Nixon about ending the conflict. This was followed by local news, which was usually heavy on politics and the latest protests from subversive groups over at Rainier. Why the next part caught his ear he couldn't say, but he immediately set aside his book to listen.

_A young boy has gone missing in Hollander Woods. Blair Sandburg, age three, wandered away from his mother during a planning meeting for a group protesting deforestation. Search parties have been in place since the boy was reported missing early this morning, but so far they have been unable to find him. In other news…_

Hollander Woods wasn't too far away from Jimmy's house. Already he was calculating the distance and how long it would take to get there on his bike. He shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and all but tossed his plate in the sink as he headed for the back door.

"Where are you going, Jimmy?" Sally asked, hand on her hips.

"Did you hear that report? I want to go help look for the little boy." He had his hand on the door when Sally grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

"Oh, no you don't. Do you have any idea what your father would say?" Her eyes were wide. Sally didn't always agree with William Ellison, but it was her job to enforce the rules when he wasn't around.

"I can help, Sally! You know I can!" Frustration was not a new emotion for Jimmy. What good was it having the super senses if no-one ever let him use them? He knew exactly what his father would say if he was there: _You don't use them, Jimmy, not ever. And especially not to help goddamn hippies!_ He knew his father was embarrassed by what he could do, and he'd always been so careful not to reveal his secret. But he couldn't just ignore some little kid lost in the woods.

"Jimmy, you are to stay in this house, do you understand me?" Sally's grip tightened on his wrist. "Let the police handle this. I'm sure they have dogs, and they'll find that little boy in no time."

He surprised her by moving forward and wrapping her in a hug. When she let go of his wrist and made to put her arms around him, Jimmy kissed her quick on the cheek and then dodged around her, going for the front door instead.

"Jimmy! You get back here this instant!"

"I'll be back later, Sally!" he called. He knew she wouldn't follow him outside, not where people would see her making a scene. He pulled his powder blue Schwinn ten-speed out of the garage and swung his leg over the center bar. It would take him about twenty minutes to get to Hollander Woods, more if he went the back way around DeChancie Street. On the off chance that Sally would call and rat him out to his father, he opted to take the long way. He wasn't quite sure why he felt so strongly about getting involved in the search for a little boy he didn't even know, but maybe he was just tired of sitting on the sidelines.

When Jimmy turned off DeChancie and onto King Lane there were fewer and fewer houses until it was mostly fields and empty lots. This was the edge of Hollander Woods, which paralleled the road for at least three miles. He'd gone hiking in there a couple times with school and Scouts; it was pretty dense and if you got off the trail it was easy to lose your way.

Finally he saw a lot of cars up ahead, parked haphazardly on the grass in front of an old, decrepit barn; cop cars, Search & Rescue trucks, regular cars, and a couple VW vans that looked pretty shabby. This was the place. Jimmy turned his bike towards the barn, where he could lean it up against the outside wall. He got off the bike and stood there a moment, getting the lay of the land.

A folding table had been set up, and it was covered with maps and a couple jugs of water. Two Search & Rescue guys were studying the maps, and talking into big walkie talkies. A cop was talking to a group of people that Jimmy easily identified as the hippies – lots of suede fringe and bellbottoms and long hair with beads in it. He extended his hearing, quickly locating three separate groups that were going through the woods looking for the little boy; each group had a dog.

"Excuse me," he said, walking up to the two men at the table.

"This isn't a good time, kid," one of the guys said dismissively.

"I want to help." Jimmy stood as straight as he could, hoping they'd see his height more than his age. He was the tallest kid in his class, and knew he looked older than thirteen.

The second man studied him for a minute, then smiled. "It's nice you want to help, but we're professionals. Why don't you go on home?"

"But…"

"Go home."

Jimmy frowned, but made no move toward his bike. Instead, he cautiously made his way around towards the cop and the hippies. One of them looked absolutely frantic, an older woman with long brown braids and a leather headband. Probably the kid's mother.

"He's just a baby! Please, you have to find him!"

"We're doing everything we can," the cop reassured her. "These are the best teams in the state, they'll find him."

"It's okay, Connie," another woman said. This one had red hair and wore a light green caftan. "He's fine. Blair knows his way around the woods."

"He's not fine, Naomi! He's been gone for over six hours, without food or water!"

"I'd know if something was wrong with my baby."

"You didn't even know he was gone!" Connie accused.

Jimmy was confused. The red-haired lady was the mom? She didn't seem upset at all, or worried. Maybe his dad was right. Hippies were weirdoes. He moved away, towards one of the big yellow Search & Rescue trucks. Sitting in the back of one was a box that had canteens, flares and ponchos neatly arranged inside. Jimmy lifted a canteen, glad it was already full, and slipped it over his head so the strap lay across his chest.

He moved around the back side of the barn, where no-one could see, and closed his eyes, listening. He filtered out the search teams and the dogs and walkie talkies. He listened until he heard something he was sure was someone crying, focusing so hard that he was almost zoned out. Then a passing car backfired, the noise jolting him back to reality. Now that Jimmy had located the sound, it was easier to find a second time. The search teams were going in the wrong direction, and he knew they'd never believe him if he told them so.

"You can do this," he told himself. He adjusted the canteen strap and then strode purposefully into the woods. At least he wouldn't have to worry about getting lost himself, since he could follow the sounds back to the barn. Now he just had to find the kid. Jimmy had never felt so purposeful, and he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. He was doing the right thing and he didn't care what his dad would do to him when he got home.

*o*o*o*

Jimmy kept his hearing focused on the sound of crying, which started to taper off into sniffles. He hoped the kid wouldn't stop making noise, he wasn't sure he could find him otherwise. He felt like he was walking forever, and there was no trail to follow so he had to watch for exposed tree roots, rocks and anything else that could trip him up. It was different, being alone in the woods instead of with a group. Jimmy thought it was just a little creepy, and wondered if the kid was scared.

After another five minutes even the sniffling stopped, and so did Jimmy. He knew he was heading in the right direction, but without the kid's noises to guide him he could still miss him by a mile.

"Come on," Jimmy said. "Give me something to go on."

As if in reply, the kid started singing – of all things – a Neil Diamond song, his voice still thick with tears. Jimmy grinned and picked up the pace, and if he sang along under his breath it was only because he'd heard the stupid song on the radio so many times that he must've learned the words.

_"I am"... I said  
>To no one there<br>And no one heard at all  
>Not even the chair<br>"I am"... I cried  
>"I am"... said I<br>And I am lost and I can't  
>Even say why<em>

The lyrics sounded strange coming from someone so young, and it soon became clear that he only knew that one verse, which he sang several times in a row before switching to the _Sesame Street_ theme song. That one he knew all the way through.

By the time he'd gotten through the song three times Jimmy was able to see him, and the relief he felt nearly staggered him. On the heels of that was the excitement that he'd used his senses to do something really good, just like he knew he could.

With a big grin on his face he approached the kid, who was sitting on the ground with his back against a fallen log. His face was streaked with tears and his hair, a riot of brown curls that was almost as long as a girl's, had leaf litter and dirt in it. He couldn't have looked more miserable sitting there in clothes that were too big and one leg drawn up, encircled by his scrawny arms.

"Hey," Jimmy said when he got close enough. The kid's head jerked up, big blue eyes staring at him fearfully. "It's okay, I came to help. Are you Blair?"

The kid nodded and Jimmy dropped down next to him, shifting slightly when a rock dug into his backside.

"My name's Jimmy. Are you okay?"

Blair shook his head. "I hurted my foot." He gestured to his left leg, the one that was stretched out. He was wearing some kind of moccasins, the absolute wrong footwear for hiking, and Jimmy could see that his ankle was swollen and discolored. He hoped it wasn't broken.

"Yeah, I guess you did. What happened? How did you get way out here?"

"I followed the woof, but then I fell and I losted him."

Jimmy tried to make sense of that. "Woof? You mean, a dog?"

Blair shook his head again, curls bouncing. "A woof," he said and then howled.

"Oh. A wolf." Jimmy quickly looked around. He didn't know if there were wolves in Hollander woods or not, but he sure didn't want to run into one. Especially since wolves usually traveled in packs.

"You gots water?" Blair asked, looking pointedly at the canteen. Jimmy quickly slipped the strap over his head and handed it over. The kid must've been parched because he gulped it greedily.

"Hey, not too much there, Chief. You'll get a stomach ache." Jimmy took the canteen back and capped it after having a quick swallow himself. "I guess you can't walk out of here, huh?"

He rested his hand tentatively on Blair's leg, just above the swollen area, and his eyes widened in surprise when he felt something like a spark of electricity zip up his arm. He looked at the kid, who looked right back at him with those blue, blue eyes and then promptly crawled into his lap, curly head bumping against the bottom of his chin.

Jimmy wrapped his arms around the kid, which wasn't hard because there wasn't much to him, and then wondered what the heck had just happened. Whatever had compelled him to defy his father and come out looking for a kid he didn't even know now seemed to be conspiring to make Jimmy feel helplessly protective over the kid. He wanted to shield him from anything that could possibly hurt him, including the hippie dippy mother who didn't even seem to care that he was lost.

"Are you a superhero?" Blair asked, his face pressed against Jimmy's chest.

"Can you keep a secret?"

The kid nodded emphatically, knocking into Jimmy's chin again.

"I _am_ a superhero. And I'll make sure you get out of here, okay?" It felt good to say it, to actually believe that he could be like Superman and use his powers for good. Maybe his father was wrong.

"Groovy," Blair said. He scootched back a little so he could look at Jimmy. "What's your powers? Can you fly?"

Jimmy chuckled. "No, Chief, no flying. But I can see really far, like…like an eagle." And yeah, that sounded pretty cool. "And I can hear things really good too. That's how I found you. I heard you singing."

"Far out! Can you hear my mom?"

"Yeah, I should be able to." Jimmy cocked his head and listened, ignoring all the forest sounds and trying to find words. Finally he picked up chatter from the search parties and followed it back to the group at the barn.

…_help you look._ It sounded like the lady that had been really mad at Blair's mom.

_We don't need any more people out wandering the woods than we already have, ma'am. We'll find him._

_But it's been hours!_

Jimmy listened for the voice of Blair's mom but he couldn't hear it. He wondered what she was doing, wished she was as worried as the other lady. Then again he knew all too well that sometimes moms couldn't be moms. His own mom had left years ago without as much as a goodbye.

"Did you hear?" Blair asked.

"She's really worried about you," Jimmy lied. "And lots of people are looking for you, so we should probably get out of here. What do you say?"

The kid hugged him again and Jimmy was embarrassed that he liked it so much. His dad never doled out hugs, or even very much praise, and if not for Sally he'd have completely gotten out of the habit of being touched. For such a little guy Blair had a really strong grip.

"Okay, Chief. Here's what we're gonna do. I'm gonna piggyback you out of here. How does that sound?"

"Sure you can't fly?"

"Sorry."

"S'okay. I still 'spect you."

Jimmy didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything. It took some maneuvering, and unfortunate jostling of Blair's swollen ankle, but finally he was able to get the kid on his back. Jimmy kept his arms under Blair's legs to help brace him, and Blair clung to Jimmy's neck as tightly as he could without actually choking him.

"You can follow the sounds?" Blair whispered next to his ear.

"I sure can. You ready?"

"Ready, Jimmy!"

Blair didn't weigh very much, which was a good thing, but it was still harder moving back through the underbrush with him clinging to Jimmy's back. There were a couple of times he wanted to stop and take a break, but he didn't want to move Blair's ankle too much so he just kept pushing forward.

There was no singing this time but the kid kept up a running commentary of everything he could see, peppered Jimmy with questions about his senses, and told him all about how the evil lumber companies were killing trees and ruining Mother Earth.

Jimmy thought he'd get irritated, but the opposite seemed to be true. Blair's voice was nice to listen to, even if he couldn't understand everything the kid was saying, and it was a good distraction from the pain he was starting to get in his back.

"I'm tired." Blair had finally wound down and he'd sagged noticeably against Jimmy's back.

"We're almost there," Jimmy promised. It was true – he almost didn't need to use his heightened hearing to make out the command post.

He imagined the hero's welcome he'd get after having found the lost boy in the woods. He'd done what the professional search teams couldn't and everyone would be amazed. Well, everyone but his father, who would be beyond angry. The more Jimmy thought of it, the less sure he was that he wanted to be the one to rescue Blair. They'd probably write about it in the paper, use his name, maybe find out he'd used his senses. And what then?

_Do you want people thinking you're a freak?_ His father had asked him that years ago, another time when he'd wanted to use his senses in public. That time he'd wanted to follow the scent trail left behind by someone who wore Hai Karate and stole money from the local bank.

Jimmy knew that's what his father thought, that he was a freak. What if he wasn't the only one? What if they wanted to study him, like in _The Andromeda Strain_? His steps slowed the closer they got to the treeline until he came to a standstill. He was pretty sure Blair had fallen asleep, since he hadn't said anything in the last few minutes. His head was a solid weight on Jimmy's shoulder.

It was awkward, trying to get down on his knees without dropping the kid off his back, but Jimmy managed it. He twisted and contorted until he'd moved Blair from his back to his front, which didn't wake him at all.

Jimmy held the kid in his lap and just watched him sleep for a minute. Blair's mouth was slack and his face was dirty, but he still looked pretty cute. Jimmy's chest felt tight all of a sudden when he realized that he'd probably never see Blair again, not once he was back with the hippies and they inevitably moved on. It was stupid, because he didn't even know the kid, but he cared what happened to him.

The best thing he could do was let Blair sleep. They'd find him pretty soon, so close to the treeline. But he couldn't leave without saying goodbye, not when he knew how much that hurt.

"Hey. Chief. Wake up." Jimmy shook his arm a little, until bleary blue eyes looked up at him.

"Home now?"

"Almost. Look, I have to go. Okay? I can't…I can't let anyone know my secret identity." It was lame, but he thought it would be easy for the kid to understand.

Blair's eyes widened. "No! Don't go! I wanna stay with you!"

Jimmy felt like a jerk. He should've just slipped away while Blair was sleeping. "You can't. Everyone's looking for you, and I don't want them to find out about me."

Tears welled up in those blue eyes even as Blair nodded. "I won't tell."

"I know you won't."

Blair wrapped him in another tight hug, shoulders hitching as he tried not to cry, and Jimmy hugged him back just as tightly. He took a quick moment to make a sensory memory of the kid, so that he'd never forget.

"Okay," Jimmy said. "Can you sing the Sesame Street song again? If you can do that two more times, I'll have enough time to get away and then you can call for your mom."

"I can do it," Blair assured him.

"I know you can." Jimmy set him down on the ground, being careful of the ankle, and ruffled up his hair. "No more chasing wolves, okay?"

Blair nodded solemnly, his lower lip quivering, and then he started to sing.

Jimmy ran, because if he walked he felt like he might not be able to get away from whatever strange pull he felt for the kid. He kept an ear on Blair as he went, circling around until he could see his bike still leaning against the barn. He waited, and was relieved to see that when Blair started hollering everyone ran in his direction, leaving Jimmy free to run in and get on his bike.

As he biked back down King Lane Jimmy kept one ear on the proceedings, grinning as everyone fussed over Blair. Even his mother, who seemed to change her tune when she saw that her son had hurt himself.

_There's no way he could've walked any distance, not with a sprain this bad._

_Blair, sweetie, how did you get here?_

_Don't 'member. I'm tired, Naomi._ And then, so quietly that no-one around him probably heard, Blair said _Bye, Jimmy_.

*o*o*o*

**24 Years Later**

Jim stood in the examination room, putting his clothes back on and waiting for the doctor to come in with his test results. He felt like a pin cushion from all the blood he'd had drawn in the last couple of days, and he was pretty sure there wasn't a medical test created that he hadn't taken. He'd been scanned, x-rayed, monitored, made to run on a treadmill, and so far everything had come back normal. If the latest batch of blood work didn't show anything he wasn't sure what he was going to do.

Just as he pulled shirt on his vision went all wonky, and the little bit of sun coming through the window shades blinded him. Jim clapped his hands over his eyes, gritting his teeth against the pain of it. Dammit, how was he supposed to do his job if this kept happening?

Just as suddenly as it had come, the pain in his eyes lessened and he dropped his hands. Vision was back to normal, at least for the moment. Actually, when he stopped to take a quick inventory, _everything_ was back to normal. Or what passed for normal for him these days. His senses were still too much, too strong, but not painfully so.

The door to the examination room finally opened, ushering in a young-looking doctor in a white lab coat and round wire-rim glasses. He was holding a clip-board, but was dressed very casually under the lab coat.

"Detective Ellison, I'm –" he started to say, but when he looked up his mouth snapped shut with an audible click of teeth.

Jim stared, unable to move or even breathe. Those blue eyes, so familiar, as familiar as the heartbeat he could hear thumping steadily in the man's chest. For just a moment he could see the image of a three year old boy overlaid on the doctor's body, and it was at once disconcerting and dizzying.

There was an almost audible whistling in his ears as memories flooded back to him, and he pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead against the pressure of them. The kid took a hesitant step forward and then stopped, uncertain.

"It's you," Jim said. He reached out until his hand touched the kid's exposed neck. Just like the first time there was a jolt of electricity he could feel all the way up his arm.

"Jimmy?" Blair – because it couldn't possibly be anyone else – whispered, his eyes impossibly wide behind his glasses.

Jim wrapped his hand around the back of Blair's neck and tugged him forward, pulled him in, until he was close enough to wrap in a hug. Just as it had been all those years ago Blair fit against him, his curly head tucked under Jim's chin as he held on tight. The clipboard clattered to the floor.

"I knew I'd find you!"

The words were mumbled into his chest but Jim could make them out well enough. Blair. After all this time. He pulled back, holding on to the kid by his shoulders to get a better look at him.

"You're all grown up," he said. "And a doctor?"

Blair flushed. "Oh, well, not exactly. I mean, I'm _going_ to be a doctor as soon as I finish my dissertation. But not a medical doctor. Oh, man, I can't believe this. I always hoped…but it's been so long and you never…you're a _cop_?"

Jim found most of that incomprehensible but he didn't care. He felt a grin spreading across his face and he was unable to stop it. "You still talk too much," he said.

"You're still a superhero," Blair shot back, grinning widely himself.

"I forgot," Jim admitted. "I forgot…everything."

He couldn't believe it. He'd had the heightened senses as a kid, had used them every day and then…what? What had happened to take them away? That part he still couldn't bring into focus, but now he clearly remembered taking off into the woods to rescue a lost little boy who'd thought he was following a wolf. He remembered the instant connection they'd had, that feeling that they belonged together. He felt it again now, only it was so much stronger. Because the boys were now both men?

Jim hugged Blair again, suddenly overcome with emotion. Saving Blair had been the one good thing he'd done with his senses before they were gone, and maybe now that they were both back in his life some good would come again.

"It's okay, Jimmy." Blair rubbed his back. "We have a lot to talk about. And I can help you now. I know how to help you. I've been looking for you my whole life."

"Excuse me," a strange voice said. Jim didn't relinquish his hold on Blair, wasn't sure he actually could. Another doctor – presumably a real one this time – stood in the open doorway, an older man with a salt and pepper beard. "Are you Detective Ellison? I'm Dr. McCoy."

"You know what, Doc? I think I'm getting a second opinion." Jim stripped Blair out of the labcoat, which he now saw bore Dr. McCoy's name tag, and tossed it on the exam table. "Let's get out of here, Chief."

Blair positively beamed at him, and they walked out of the office together, Jim's hand wrapped possessively around Blair's arm.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong>__ Welcome to 1972! LOL! Just a little AU fun with the boys. It's always fun to imagine different scenarios for their first meetings. This timeline is based on Blair's birth year of 1969, but I let Jim keep his senses for a little longer than he did in canon. I think that the circumstances surrounding the loss of the senses could stay the same – having a close friend murdered and finding the body is traumatic at any age, especially coupled with William Ellison's response to that._

_In any case, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. ::grins::_


	22. Drive By

**Warning: **Adult, graphic slashy situations are contained in this songfic. If you're not interested in that, please don't read it. Thank you!

**Drive By**, by Train

_Oh but that one night  
>Was more than just right<br>I didn't leave you cause I was all through  
>Oh I was overwhelmed and frankly scared as hell<br>Because I really fell for you_

_Oh I swear to you_  
><em>I'll be there for you<em>  
><em>This is not a drive by<em>  
><em>Just a shy guy looking for a 2-ply<em>  
><em>Hefty bag to hold my love<em>  
><em>When you move me everything is groovy<em>  
><em>They don't like it sue me<em>  
><em>The way you do me<em>  
><em>Oh I swear to you<em>  
><em>I'll be there for you<em>  
><em>This is not a drive by<em>

_On the other side of a downward spiral_  
><em>My love for you went viral<em>  
><em>And I loved you every mile you drove away<em>  
><em>But now here you are again<em>  
><em>So let's skip the "how you been"<em>  
><em>And get down to the "more than friends" at last<em>

* * *

><p><em>When it finally happened it seemed almost inevitable, at least to Jim. There'd been tension between them for a while, steadily growing. Every casual touch seemed to spark, tingling up his skin like an electric charge. It took the Franklin case to finally break him. It had been a bad one. Children had died, one of them in Jim's arms. He felt like all that tension between him and Blair had internalized, coiling in his belly, and he needed to lash out or else have it eat him up from the inside.<em>

"_There was nothing you could've done," Blair told him for the twentieth time when they got back to the loft. Jim knew in his head that it was true, but it didn't _feel_ true in his heart. He was supposed to protect his tribe and he'd failed the youngest, most innocent members of it._

"_You don't understand," Jim snarled at his partner. Blair just gaped at him._

"_I don't understand? I don't _understand_? You asshole! I was there too!" And his partner shoved him, hard. "You think being a Sentinel gives you proprietary rights to guilt?"_

"_Don't touch me!" Jim snapped. He was fairly quivering with tension now, and knew there were only two ways it could come out. And maybe Blair, who always had such an instinctual knowledge about these things, knew that too. He offered himself up as a sacrifice and gave Jim another shove._

"_Fuck you."_

_Jim grabbed his partner by the shoulders and slammed him back into the nearest flat surface, which happened to be the pillar in the kitchen. It was a move reminiscent of their very first meeting, when Blair had called him a primitive throw-back, and that's certainly how he felt right now, primal and uncontrolled. For a split second he weighed his options, but there really never was a choice. _

_Still clutching Blair's shoulders, Jim lowered his head and took the other man's mouth with his own, the pressure hard and bruising. As a first kiss it lacked a lot, but he was in no position to care. The pressure inside him needed to be released, and this was the safest outlet. He liked to think, when he thought about it later, that he would have been able to stop if Blair had indicated that was what he wanted. Instead, the younger man moaned into Jim's mouth and there was no stopping that train once it got up to speed._

_He plunged his hands into his partner's hair, tipping the younger man's head back so he could deepen the kiss. It was as if he were trying to devour Blair, consume him to help ease the aches the Franklin case had left inside. Jim growled deep in his throat and moved his hands up under Blair's shirts, needing to feel the smoothness and warmth of his skin. It was like a fire that burned away the hurt and the pain, and he wanted more of it._

_Blair was left panting when Jim broke the kiss, intent of divesting his friend of his cumbersome clothing. No fewer than three layers of shirts were yanked with more haste than finesse over Blair's head and tossed aside in a heap. _

"_God, oh God…" someone moaned. Jim thought maybe it was him. He laid a line of wet, biting kisses down Blair's neck to his chest. He crouched down, laving one nipple with his tongue while he used his fingers to twist and pull the hoop in the other until Blair was arching away from the pillar, offering himself up to Jim._

"_Please. Please."_

_Jim rubbed his face in that mat of springy chest hair, breathing in the scent of Blair's arousal until he could taste it on the back of his tongue, musky and rich. He followed the trail of hair down to the waistband of his jeans and took a moment to thrust his tongue in and out of the other man's naval. _

"_Please, Jim," Blair moaned. _

_Jim unbuttoned the jeans and yanked down the zipper. There was no time for slow, not now. Still so much pressure inside of him and he needed to get it out, get it gone, before it mutated into something dark and ugly. He grabbed hold of both the jeans and the boxers beneath them, shoving them down to Blair's knees with one powerful jerk. His partner's cock sprang free, already hard and curved upward, tip glistening with further evidence of his arousal. Jim gave it no more than a cursory examination before taking it into his mouth, on his knees now before his friend, his Guide, his anchor._

_The world narrowed to that one point, that groin flooded with heat and smelling of sweat and masculine musk. Jim set up a rapid pace that Blair easily met, hips bucking. He grasped his friend's ass, one finger sweeping almost casually over his opening, and it wasn't long before Blair was tense and spasming, shooting his load down Jim's throat and making strangled sounds of pleasure._

_Blair sagged against the pillar, gasping, and Jim took the opportunity to get to his feet and divest himself quickly of his own clothes. His cock was impossibly hard, painfully hard, and he stroked it a few times just to send a shiver of pleasure down his own spine. Then he grabbed Blair and spun him around so that he was facing away._

"_Need you," he moaned into his partner's ear, and then he was thrusting against the crack of his ass and up the small of his back, the thin sheen of sweat there easing his way but still allowing for that little drag and pull that was both pleasure and pain. Blair leaned forward, offering more of himself, but Jim just grabbed hold of his hips and thrust harder. Later, he told himself. Later he would take Blair the way he'd been imagining, but for now this was enough._

_Jim felt his release building, that ball of pressure now centered at the base of his spine. And then it exploded, he exploded, coming on Blair's back in hot white streams, the pleasure of it burning his skin, turning him inside out. When it was over he slumped against his partner, both of them using the pillar for support._

"_Feel better, big guy?" Blair asked after a while, and Jim could hear the smile in his voice. And he did, but it wasn't enough yet._

"_I will soon," he promised. He helped his friend get the rest of the way out of his pants, and then shoved him towards the stairs. Blair looked at him, eyes heavy with lust. _

"_More?"_

"_Better."_

_And it was. Because now Jim could take his time, could afford to go slow. The edge of violence was gone, but the pressure was still there. He worshipped the lean body beneath him, lavished it with wet kisses and teasing nips. He carefully prepared Blair, but hadn't prepared himself for how he'd feel once he'd pushed all the way inside him. It was as if some vital connection had finally been made, some cosmic switch flipped. White starbursts filled Jim's eyes and now it was as if Blair was the one devouring him, pulling him in and making them one. There was a completeness he'd never felt before and he'd have stayed still and reveled in it forever if his partner, his lover, hadn't grown impatient and started to fuck himself on Jim's cock._

_This second completion left them both boneless, gasping and panting, sweaty and sticky. It took Jim several minutes before he could move himself enough to fetch a damp washcloth and clean them both off. As they spooned together on his bed afterwards, sated and sleepy, the tension was gone. The violence and helplessness had gone with it, leaving him husked out and clean. He could finally feel what Blair had been telling him all day, that he'd done everything he could do for those children. And he was overwhelmed at the gift his Guide had given him to make this so, humbled and awed that he knew exactly what to do and did so willingly._

"_Love you," Blair murmured as he drifted off to sleep._

_That's when Jim fucked everything up._

*o*o*o*

Jim turned the truck onto Prospect Street, coming home after another long day at work. They were in the middle of a case involving extortion and murder, and weren't making much progress. He wasn't sure his senses would be much help even if they were still working, though the question was always there for each case he pulled. Simon had given him the next two days off, concerned that he was pushing himself too hard, but he wasn't planning to take them. What the hell was he going to do with a whole weekend to himself?

Used to be he looked forward to going home, instead of just feeling resigned. Of course, that was when Blair still lived there. There would've been some easy banter, a shared meal, maybe some time watching one of Blair's Discovery Channel specials. Now the loft was too empty, too quiet. It was too much the way it had been before his friend had moved in, and he hated it.

That old adage about watching what you wish for had never been more accurate. How many times had Jim wished away his senses, wanting to be normal? Wanting to be unburdened? He'd been wrong to think that way, he knew that now. He'd lost everything and discovered that "normal" meant nothing. All of the richness, depth and texture had gone out of his life and he'd give anything to get it all back. Get Blair back.

Jim pulled up the side street and turned into the parking lot behind his building. He turned the truck off and then just sat there. Blair's six months were up, he'd be coming back from New York soon. Or so Jim assumed. He hadn't talked to his former partner in all that time and it was possible that he wouldn't be coming back to Cascade at all once the Anthropology Exchange was over.

Jim's initial fear of Blair going to New York was that he'd decided to drive cross country. In the Volvo. Simon had relayed that information, since he was the only one Blair chose to keep in contact with, and the four days that trip took were the longest of Jim's life. Not that he even had the right to worry, not anymore. But worry he had, until Simon reported that the former police consultant had arrived safe and sound at NYU. He'd been so relieved, and then the very next day a new fear moved into his head, and that one had been hanging around for months. What if Blair found someone in New York? What if he fell in love and decided not to come home?

With a sigh, Jim got out of the truck and locked it up. As he was heading towards the door, a flash of something caught his eye and he whipped his head around. Someone had just gone around the corner, but he could've sworn he saw curly hair. Five months ago he would have gone in pursuit, had in fact been frequently distracted by hair that was the right color, with just the right amount of curl. It had never been Blair and he had no reason to think it was this time either, just another woman who wouldn't appreciate being accosted by a lonely, desperate off-duty cop.

The loft was quiet, as it always was now. It was easy to see all the empty spaces, where a little piece of Blair had been out on display – masks, fetishes, photographs, CDs. Jim hadn't found anything to take their place. He hung up his jacket, tossed his keys in the basket by the door, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He wasn't quite ready to go foraging for leftovers, so he headed out to the balcony. He spent a lot of time out there now, and told himself he was watching over his city when he was really just waiting for Blair. Always waiting.

The sun was starting to go down, the light of it glinting off countless windows. Once upon a time that might have sent him into a zone. Once upon a time he would've been able to see so much more from his vantage point, details that never failed to make his Guide wide-eyed in wonder. He'd always secretly liked that, the feeling Blair gave him of being some kind of superhero/magician. The last time they'd been together, his friend had exuded nothing but disappointment.

"_You're leaving?" Jim asked, incredulous. The evidence was clear – everything of Sandburg's had been cleared out of the loft while he was at work._

"_I'm doing the exchange program," Blair had replied, not looking him in the eye._

_They'd talked about that weeks ago, when the opportunity had first arisen, but Blair had adamantly refused to do it. He didn't want to leave his students, didn't want to leave Jim without backup at the station. They'd debated it, argued it, and in the end Jim had been relieved to agree that his friend should stay, like he'd stayed when they offered him Borneo._

_He wanted to argue again, wanted to beg him not to go, but in the end he said nothing. What could he say? Blair had made his decision and it wasn't like Jim had given him any reason to stay. He couldn't even bring himself to be angry._

"_Jim, I…I'll see you around."_

_Just like that Blair was gone, out the door and out of his life, and Jim stood there for a very long time as the emptiness of the loft seeped inside him._

It was fully dark by the time Jim went back inside. He turned on the lamps, something he'd never needed to do when his senses were still online, and pulled some leftover lasagna out of the fridge. He ate at the table, flipping through the latest issue of Guns & Ammo magazine even though in his head he was running through evidence and witness testimonies for his case.

As it had pre-Blair, his life had become all about the job. Well, with one notable exception. The people he worked with, particularly Simon, Joel and Henri, refused to let him withdraw fully. Apparently they liked the joking, happy Jim that had emerged when the long-haired anthropologist had come into his life, and so he was frequently being dragged out for drinks, for meals, for poker night. He tried, he really did, but his heart just wasn't in it.

After dinner he cleaned up the kitchen and settled in front of the TV to watch whatever cop drama he could find that was on. He kept worrying at the case, wishing he could find that one missing piece that would tie the whole thing together. Jim decided he'd just go on in to work tomorrow, regardless of the lecture he'd get from Simon. He just wouldn't feel right taking time off until this case was solved.

An hour later he headed up to his room with a Lee Child novel and read until he was tired enough to fall asleep.

*o*o*o*

_Jim cooked breakfast the next morning and tried to figure out how to salvage his friendship with Blair. He'd thought they were on the same page last night, but he'd been wrong and now he berated himself for taking advantage of his partner. Things had gotten out of hand, he'd lost control, and it had all just been too much. Too much of everything. He didn't mind admitting to himself that he was feeling a bit out of his depth._

_By the time Blair came shuffling into the kitchen, wearing just his boxer shorts, Jim had a pleasant expression slapped on his face that he hoped looked more natural than it felt. He could see his friend out of the corner of his eye, stretching languorously._

"_Morning, Jim."_

"_Morning. Eggs are almost done."_

"_Mmm." Blair came around the end of the island and put his hand on Jim's arm. Jim immediately tensed and took a step back, breaking that little point of contact._

"_Everything okay?" Blair sounded concerned, but Jim could hear the fear and hurt behind it. He tried to explain, tried to make him understand._

"_I wanted to thank you for last night," he said. And then moved away another step when Blair reached for him again. The hurt flooded his eyes this time. "The case was such a mess and there was all that tension, you know? If you hadn't helped me out I don't know what I'd have done."_

"_Helped you out," Blair replied flatly._

"_You didn't have to do that, and I really appreciate it."_

"_It's not like I helped you move the sofa, Jim," Blair said. And now he was moving away, backing up towards the table. "I thought…"_

"_Don't get me wrong, it was good. Really good! But I just don't think it's something that should become a regular thing, you know? I mean, I'm not looking for that right now." The more desperately he tried to make Blair understand, the more his smile became a grimace. He knew he was spinning the whole thing wrong but he couldn't stop the words coming out of his mouth, or his desperate desire to make them be true._

"_So that was, what? A buddy fuck? A helping hand among friends?" Blair's voice seemingly dropped an entire octave and became rough and uneven, nothing like his smooth, calming Guide voice. He was moving now towards his room, one slow and shuffling step at a time._

"_It was the case," Jim insisted. "The case messed me up. But you helped, and I'll always be grateful for that."_

"_Grateful. Why not just throw some money on my dresser, you dick. You unbelievable _asshole_." Blair had reached the door to his room now, had one hand on the knob, and Jim had a sudden panicked feeling that once he went in there and closed the door, he'd never see his Guide again._

"_It's not like that!"_

"_The hell it's not." Blair slipped through the gap in the French doors and closed them with a quiet snick._

_Jim looked down at the eggs, which had dried out and started to brown, and turned off the burner. That hadn't gone at all the way he'd envisioned in his head. Surely Blair could understand the need for sexual release, even between friends. Considering all the women he'd been with, why couldn't he understand? Because that's all it was, all Jim would allow himself to believe it was. He'd never wanted anything more than he wanted to be with Blair and the strength of that feeling was terrifying. Well, once his partner cooled off they would talk again and Jim would make him come around to his way of thinking. He ignored the frightened voice in his head, the one that told him he was making a huge mistake. Things would work out, they always did. _

*o*o*o*

Jim was up early the following morning and went about his usual routine with typical Ellison efficiency. Quick shave and shower, half a bagel and a cup of coffee for breakfast, and then he was out the door. Simon would give him hell for coming in on a Saturday, when he'd been practically ordered to stay away, but he needed to do the job. Needed to solve the case, because right now that's all he had.

As soon as reached the parking lot he knew something was wrong. He stopped and looked around, trying to determine what was setting off his internal alarm bells. It was still pretty early, not many people up and around, at least here in the building. And then he saw movement by his truck. Jim's weapon was in his hand before he even had the conscious thought to pull it and he eased to the left, trying to see around Mrs. Bylicki's old Caddy.

It was a sound that stopped him the second time. It seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it. He tipped his head, trying to focus, trying to remember. It was a soothing sound, rhythmic…just like…like…and then his eyes widened in surprise as he finally placed it. Jim jerked his head up, looking at his truck. At the person leaning against it, arms crossed, a wary look on his face.

Jim's senses slammed back online and he staggered a bit under the unexpected amplification of them all. But he only had eyes for Blair, and now he could see him so very well: every freckle, every curl, the tiny flecks of gold in his deep blue eyes. Everything else melted away, became insignificant, as he drank in each beloved and long-missed feature. Blair opened his mouth, but if he spoke Jim didn't hear it. For the first time in six months, he slid painlessly into a zone, lost in Blair's blue eyes.

_It was the eyes he'd noticed first, that day at Rainier when he hunted down Blair Sandburg in the bowels of Hargrove Hall. Such a deep, amazing blue, and they practically sparked with excitement as he explained to Jim that he was a Sentinel._

_Jim learned that Blair's eyes were incredibly expressive, could convey a wealth of emotion even without the benefit of corresponding facial expressions. He had read fear and mischief and pain and joy in them. But the sorrow is what he'd remember most, because it was the last thing he saw before Blair walked out of his life. So much sorrow it seemed impossible for one man to bear alone, and so Jim has shared it with him though they were separated by three thousand miles._

"…on, Jim! _Jesus_, what's wrong with you? I thought you had a handle on this now."

Jim came back to himself slowly, following the sound of Blair's voice and the firm grip of his hand on Jim's arm. He sounded angry and maybe a little bit guilty, but the Sentinel was out of practice using his gifts and he couldn't be sure. He shook his head a little to clear out the residual cobwebs.

"Sorry," he said.

"Has this been happening a lot?" Blair asked, stepping away and crossing his arms over his chest.

Jim realized he was still holding his gun and slipped it back in the shoulder holster. "No," he answered honestly.

Blair's heart was pounding too loudly and he fumbled with his dials, rusty from misuse, until he'd gotten hearing turned down to manageable levels. He felt awkward and clumsy, and he had no clue what to do with his Guide now that he'd reappeared. What he wanted was to pull him into his arms and never let him go again, to apologize for every wrong thing he did and promise to make up for it, but he didn't know if Blair would be open to any of that. He still looked pretty angry.

"You, uh, wanna come up? I could make tea." Jim inwardly winced as soon as he said that. Not only did he sound completely lame but Blair would see that the cupboard was still full of the things he'd left behind.

Blair's eyes flicked up to the third floor, a stark look of want painfully clear on his face for half a second before he locked himself down again. Jim could sense the negation that was forming and quickly moved to block it.

"Or we could go to the diner." _Neutral territory_, he thought, and waited for Blair to think it over.

"Yeah. Okay."

Jim struggled to keep from showing his relief. "Good. That's good. You, uh…" He nodded towards the truck.

"It's two blocks up. I think we can walk it." Blair rolled his eyes and for a moment it was like old times. Then he jammed his hands in the pockets of his corduroy coat and walked off, forcing Jim to trot and catch him up.

"How was New York?" he asked.

"It was a nice change. NYU has a really good Anthropology department." Blair kept his gaze firmly forward. "They offered me a job."

Jim nodded, though he was filled with dismay. It was just the sort of thing he'd been afraid of, something he'd always kind of expected once he'd gotten to know Sandburg and learned of his globe-trotting past. At one time he might've been enough to keep the kid in Cascade but he was sure he'd destroyed any chance of that now.

"They'd be lucky to have you," he said. It was the truth.

"Yeah, well, I'm considering it. Haven't made up my mind yet."

It wasn't much, but Jim grasped that straw and held it tight. If Blair was still undecided maybe he still had a chance to convince him to stay.

"So. How have you been?" As a conversational gambit it was lame but he couldn't think of anything else to say that wouldn't have him sounding like a raving lunatic. He needed to time get his thoughts in order, figure out a game plan.

"Good. I met some really nice people. Say what you want about New Yorkers, but not all of them are rude assholes." A grin hovered around Blair's mouth. "I shared an apartment with a couple guys. You would _not_ believe the cost of rent out there, man. The cost of living is ridiculously high. It's no wonder so many kids end up on the streets. You know…"

Jim let Blair ramble on about ineffectual public assistance programs and homelessness, listening to the sound of his voice more than what he was actually saying. It had been so long since he'd heard his Guide that he felt he couldn't get enough of it, no matter what banal topic he wanted to talk about. The cadence of the words, the tone of his voice, it all washed over him like a soothing balm.

_It had surprised Jim, when he started getting the hang of his senses, how much subtlety and variety there was in human speech. He could tell from tone alone how the speaker was feeling, if they were nervous or angry or scared. He could hear every tremor, every quaver, every muttered imprecation that wasn't meant to be heard._

_Blair was the only one who could use his tone of voice to affect Jim on a physical level. His regular speaking voice was calming, and his Guide voice was like a drug, leaving him feeling incredibly warm and kind of buzzed. When there was anguish or pain in Blair's voice Jim felt it almost as keenly as if it were his own._

_When Blair left his words had fallen flat and heavy from his lips, dragging Jim down with them. He'd said goodbye, but the words were imbued with regret and anger and disappointment, and no matter how hard he tried Jim couldn't remember the sweet tones of the Guide voice, not the whole time Blair was gone._

"…diculous," Blair said.

Jim blinked at him, momentarily confused until he realized he must've zoned again. Blair had backed him up against the nearest wall, standing in front of him presumably to block him from view while he stood there with his head tipped to the side like an idiot.

"You back with me? What the hell is going on with you, man?" The wide arm gestures started and Jim had to bite back a grin at the sight of them. The sounds of guilt were thicker now, easier to hear. Blair had never been good at hiding his emotions.

"It's nothing," he said. "I've just been working too hard, that's all."

Blair gave him a narrow-eyed look. Clearly he wasn't buying that excuse. "This was a mistake. I should've known you wouldn't…"

He turned away and Jim was gripped with fear. It was happening all over again, because he couldn't be honest with the one person who wouldn't judge him, the one person who would understand.

"They went away," he blurted out. "When you left, the senses went away."

Blair turned, looking at Jim even more intently. "What?"

Jim shrugged, like it wasn't any big thing. And honestly, that was how he'd treated it at the time – just one of those things, not completely unexpected under the circumstances. If Blair had been with him he would've made a big fuss. Then again, if Blair had been with him they never would've left in the first place.

"When did they come back? No, wait. Don't tell me. In the parking lot just now?"

Jim nodded. He told himself that he'd answer any question Blair threw at him, and answer it honestly. He owed his friend that much, regardless of what happened after. It was his stupid lie that got them to this point and he wouldn't let his own stubborn reticence work against him, not now. Not when it was so important.

Blair sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, you know what? We can't do this."

"Wait, I can –"

He held up his hand. "Let me clarify. We can't do this _here_. If you're going to be zoning out on me every five minutes we should go back to the loft."

Jim let out a relieved breath. Going to the loft was a great idea. If he could get Blair inside, back where he belonged, maybe he could convince him to stay. "Yeah, okay. I can cook us something."

He led the way back, more confident than he'd been just minutes before. Blair was giving him more than he'd expected, and he wasn't going to waste his chance.

"Elevator's still busted, I see," Blair remarked as they walked through the lobby.

"I've been helping Ms. Finsky with her groceries." Jim led the way up the stairs, still fiddling with his dials. He didn't want Blair to feel obligated just because his senses were all messed up.

It was awkward, ushering Blair back into the loft, and it shouldn't have been because that had been his home. _Their_ home. Jim wished now that he'd taken more effort to fill the empty spaces, to at least give the impression that he hadn't put his life on hold the last six months.

He turned towards the kitchen, trying to think what he had on hand to cook, and then stopped dead when his sense memory brought back the scent of over-cooked scrambled eggs, and the sound of betrayal in Blair's voice. He couldn't…he couldn't…

"Just tea is fine," Blair said. His voice snapped Jim back to the here and now.

Jim filled the kettle and turned on the burner. He waited until Blair had his back turned before quickly opening the cupboard door and snatching the first teabag his fingers found. If Blair decided to stay it shouldn't be out of a feeling of obligation or pity.

They didn't talk at all while waiting for the water to boil. Blair wandered around loft looking at everything, occasionally reaching out to run a finger along a picture frame or over a lampshade. And Jim just watched him. It had been so easy between them once. They'd fit together so well despite the differences between them, and at times their partnership had been almost seamless. Jim missed that, especially now that Blair was a living, breathing presence in his life again.

Finally the kettle boiled and Jim fixed Blair a cup of tea just the way he liked it – one sugar and just a dollop of milk. Blair sat at the table instead of in the living room and Jim wondered if that was because he didn't want to let himself get too comfortable.

It was now or never. Jim dreaded the conversation he knew they had to have, but he wasn't about to dance around it either. "Why did you come?"

Blair kept his gaze firmly on the mug in his hands. "I don't know, honestly. To see how you were doing? Maybe to help me figure out where I need to be. The job offer is a pretty big deal, you know?"

"Don't take it," Jim said. It's what he'd wanted to say back when the exchange program had first come up but he'd been unable to just tell Blair what he wanted back then. Hadn't wanted to seem too needy, or hold the kid back. Now, though, he had nothing to lose.

Blair jerked his head up, startled. "What?"

"I want you to stay."

"How can you say that to me?" Blair's hands clenched into fists on the table. "I didn't come here to ask your permission."

"I know you didn't."

"Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to leave? What happened between us…that was pretty brutal, man. Do you think I can just forget about it, and we can go back to the way things were?"

Blair pushed back from the table and Jim moved without thinking, snapping his arm out and grabbing hold of the other man's wrist. His heart was in his throat, but he needed to fix this. He wouldn't get another chance, and he fought against another zone at the feel of Blair's smooth skin against his hand.

"I was wrong, okay? I freaked out and I lied and that was wrong."

"You were an asshole," Blair said. His emotions were painfully clear to Jim, the hurt and the disappointment and the anger; Blair had broadcast them all in the days leading to his departure and Jim hadn't had the strength to deal with them then.

"What we had. Before. It was too big, I couldn't handle it. The way you made me feel…" Jim closed his eyes, remembered how it felt to be so completely surrounded by Blair – physically, emotionally. "When…when you said you loved me I got scared."

Blair yanked his wrist out of Jim's grasp but didn't get out of his chair. "I didn't say that." And now there was fear, and suddenly Jim had to fight the urge to laugh. Blair'd been mostly asleep, they'd both been wrung out, and Jim had chased him away for something he didn't even remember he'd said.

"You did. Right when you fell asleep."

"So it was the words that freaked you out? And not all the fucking we did?" Blair narrowed his eyes, glaring at Jim. "How does that make you any less of an asshole?"

"I've never felt for anyone what I feel for you," Jim replied as honestly as he could. His chest felt painfully constricted but he forced the words out. "I don't know what to do with it. Everyone leaves, and I didn't think I could stand it to have that much of you and then lose it."

"You lost it anyway," Blair said. But his voice was turning as soft as his expression, and Jim kicked himself again for thinking that he couldn't be honest with this man. Blair knew him better than he knew himself.

"We should've talked about it. You were always able to get things out of me, but that time you didn't try." It was more of a question than an accusation. Blair had always pushed him, had made him face his fears and his unpleasant memories and work through them. Except when it really counted.

Blair looked away again, hiding behind his hair. "I suppose I was just as much at fault as you were. I knew you wouldn't deal well if you knew how I really felt about you. I don't know if you noticed, man, but I don't have long-lasting relationships. I tried ignoring how I felt, but that night. That night I just couldn't anymore."

Jim felt heartened by that confession. He wasn't alone. They'd both been governed by fear instead of just accepting the gift that they'd been given. "Fear-based responses, Chief?" he asked softly.

They looked at each other for a long minute and then Blair burst out laughing. Jim skated on the knife's edge of a zone just from the bright, pure sound of it. How long had it been since he'd heard Blair laugh? Or wanted to laugh himself?

"Okay," Blair said, face flushed. "We're both assholes. That doesn't really make me feel any better."

"So let's stop being assholes and start being the responsible grown-ups we're supposed to be." Jim got up and moved around the table. Blair stood as well, and all traces of amusement fled from his eyes as he adopted a more wary stance. It hurt Jim to see it but he knew it wasn't undeserved. "It wasn't a buddy fuck, Blair. It was something I'd been wanting. _Needing_. It was amazing, _you_ were amazing, and I've regretted not telling you that for the last six months."

"I don't remember saying it," Blair whispered. "But I wanted to. For a long time."

Jim closed the gap between them until they were standing so close he could feel the heat from Blair's body without even touching him. He looked into Blair's eyes, so blue and so full of hope, and spoke from the heart.

"I've loved you for a long time, even as you drove out of my life. And I'm sorry. I'm so damned sorry."

The only warning Jim had was a liquid gleam in Blair's eyes, and then he swarmed against Jim, clutching at his shoulders as he raised himself up to press their lips together.

Jim wrapped his arms around Blair and met the kiss head-on. All the tension in his muscles, all the constriction in his chest, all his self-doubt and recrimination dissolved in an instant. This was everything he'd ever wanted, even before he knew he wanted it. He stopped thinking and just let himself feel it, feel everything.

"That's it!" he exclaimed, pulling back. Blair blinked up at him with a hazy, lust-filled expression.

"It sure is." He tried tugging Jim's head down for another kiss but Jim shook his head.

"No, not _that_. My case. Something the secretary said…I have to call Simon." Jim looked at Blair, still wrapped in his arms, and cursed his bad timing. "Blair, I'm sorry. If it wasn't critical –"

"I knew what I was in for when I fell for a cop," Blair said with a grin. "Go to the office, catch your bad guy. It's okay."

"It'll just take a minute to call Simon, I don't have to be there." Oh, but he wanted to. This particular lowlife had been slippery as hell, and if Jim hadn't had that sudden thought about the secretary's interview he might've gotten away with murder.

"Yes you do. Go. I'll stick around till you get back."

Jim was torn, but he could hear the truth in Blair's words and trusted him not to run off again. Not until they had a chance to work things out. "I'll be as quick as I can."

"Go be a hero, big guy." This time Blair was successful in pulling Jim in for another kiss, though this one was unsatisfactorily brief. "I won't leave. I promise."

"This time I'd track you down, I don't care how far away you go," Jim threatened.

"Big talk. Go!"

Jim went, albeit reluctantly, and stayed tuned to Blair's heartbeat as long as he possibly could.

*o*o*o*

It was nearly six o'clock by the time Jim wrapped up his case and got to go home. He'd held back from calling the loft, though several times he'd actually reached for his phone. Blair had promised not to leave but that didn't stop Jim from fearing the worst. What if he'd reconsidered? What if he didn't believe that Jim meant what he said?

All his fears were for naught. He heard Blair's heartbeat long before he got to the loft. Not just that, but his friend was humming and cooking. Jim could smell the stir-fry that Blair always used to make and that constriction returned in his chest. The loft hadn't been home in six months and all it took was a few hours in Blair's hands for it to feel that way again.

"Welcome home," Blair called from the kitchen when Jim walked through the door. "Good timing. Dinner's ready."

Jim tossed his key in the basket and made a beeline for Blair, wrapping him in a hug so tight that Blair gave a little oomph of surprise. He wanted it to always be this way, to always have Blair to come home to.

"Everything okay?"

"Right as rain, Chief."

Blair snuggled in, his head tucked under Jim's chin. "So, I talked to the head of the Anthro department at NYU."

Jim forced himself not to tense up, to stay relaxed until he heard what Blair had to say. It wasn't easy.

"I thanked them very much for the job offer but told them I'd decided to stay in Cascade." Blair pressed a kiss to Jim's throat. "My home is here."

_Thank God_, Jim thought. "Funny you should mention that. I talked to Simon and he's fairly certain there's a paid consultant job opening up at Major Crimes soon."

"You were pretty sure I'd stay."

"I've decided to try optimism." Jim started moving, backing Blair towards the stairs to the bedroom. "In fact, I'm making a lot of new changes."

"That so?"

"For instance, I've decided to start having dessert before dinner."

"Mmm. I can get behind that."

Jim slid his hands down to cup Blair's ass. "I plan on getting behind _you_."

Blair started to laugh and Jim kissed him, swallowing that joy until it filled him too. He wasn't foolish enough to think he'd never screw up – his relationship history spoke for itself – but he was going to try harder than he'd ever done before. Blair meant more. He meant everything.

They made it to the bedroom before Blair hesitated, pulling away. "You're not going to change your mind, right? Because I can't go through that again."

"I love you, Blair. That's not going to change an hour from now or a hundred years from now."

That seemed to alleviate the last of Blair's fears because he grinned and started unzipping his jeans. "Then let's get to this more-than-friends thing 'cause I've waited long enough."

Jim found himself speechless as Blair began a striptease, peeling off his clothing piece by piece. The time for talking was over anyway, they'd both said what needed to be said. And this time when Jim took his lover to bed he knew it wouldn't be the last time.

"Welcome home," he murmured in Blair's ear later, when they lay in a sweaty tangle of limbs.

"No place else I'd rather be," Blair replied.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN:<strong>__ This fic had been living in a folder half done for ages. I loved the beginning so much but bringing these boys back together proved a problem. Hopefully I've solved it to a satisfactory degree. ::grins:: Now this song can stop haunting me!_

_This fic will close out the Songs for Sentinel series. All future fics will be stand-alones. And there's plenty more!_


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